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CAPTAINS    ALL 


Old  Sam  crept  back  'onie  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  wirli  a  hag  ot  oranges  he 
didn't  want. 


CAPTAINS 
ALL 


BY 


W.   W.    JACOBS 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK::::::::::::::::::::  1909 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
WILLIAM  W.   JACOBS 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  November,  1905 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Captains  All 7 

The  Boatswain's  Mate    .......  35 

The  Nest  Egg 67 

The  Constable's  Move 93 

Bob's  Redemption 121 

Over  the  Side 149 

Four  Pigeons 167 

The  Temptation  of  Samuel  Burge  .     .     .191 

The  Madness  of  Mr.  Lister 219 

The  White  Cat 243 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Old   Sam   crept   back  'ome   like  a  man  in   a  dream, 

with  a  bag  of  oranges  he  didn't  want    .   Frontispiece 

Facing 

**  I   gives   you  the   two   quid    afore   you  go  into   the  ^^^^ 
house,"   continued  the  boatswain 46 

He   said   it   was   a   bad   road   and   a   little   shop,    and 

'ad  got  a  look  about  it  he  didn't  like     .      .      .      76 

Mr.  Grummit,  suddenly  remembering  himself,  stopped 

short  and  attacked  the  bed  with  extraordinary  fiiry   102 

Afore    George    had    settled    with    the    cabman,    there 

was  a  policeman  moving  the  crowd  on  .      .      .140 

The  fust  Bob  Pretty  'card  of  it  was  up  at  the   Cauli- 
flower at  eight  o'clock  that  evening    .      .      .      .176 

A  friendship  sprang  up  between  the  two  men  which 

puzzled  the  remainder  of  the  crew  not  a  little  .    228 

He   'ad   a   little    collar   and   chain    made    for  it,   and 

took  it  out  for  a  walk  .*•>••*.   250 


CAPTAINS 
ALL 


Captains  All 


EVERY  sailorman  grumbles  about  the  sea, 
said  the  night-watchman,  thoughtfully. 
It's  human  nature  to  grumble,  and  I  s'pose 
they  keep  on  grumbling  and  sticking  to  it 
because  there  ain't  much  else  they  can  do. 
There's  not  many  shore-going  berths  that  a 
sailorman  is  fit  for,  and  those  that  they  are 
— such  as  a  night-watchman's,  for  instance — 
wants  such  a  good  character  that  there's  few 
as   are  to  equal  it. 

Sometimes  they  get  things  to  do  ashore.  I 
knew  one  man  that  took  up  butchering,  and 
'e  did  very  well  at  it  till  the  police  took  him 
up.  Another  man  I  knew  gave  up  the  sea  to 
marry  a  washerwoman,  and  they  hadn't  been 
married  six  months  afore  she  died,  and  back 
he  'ad  to  go  to  sea  agin,  pore  chap. 

A  man  who  used  to  grumble  awful  about 
9 


Captains  All 

the  sea  was  old  Sam  Small — a  man  I've  spoke 
of  to  you  before.  To  hear  'Im  go  on  about 
the  sea,  arter  he  'ad  spent  four  or  five  months' 
money  in  a  fortnight,  was  'artbreaking.  He 
used  to  ask  us  wot  was  going  to  happen  to  'im 
in  his  old  age,  and  when  we  pointed  out  that 
he  wouldn't  be  likely  to  'ave  any  old  age  if  he 
wasn't  more  careful  of  'imself  he  used  to  fly 
into  a  temper  and  call  us  everything  'e  could 
lay  his  tongue  to. 

One  time  when  'e  was  ashore  with  Peter 
Russet  and  Ginger  Dick  he  seemed  to  'ave  got 
it  on  the  brain.  He  started  being  careful  of 
'is  money  instead  o'  spending  it,  and  three 
mornings  running  he  bought  a  newspaper  and 
read  the  advertisements,  to  see  whether  there 
was  any  comfortable  berth  for  a  strong,  good- 
'arted  man  wot  didn't  like  work. 

He  actually  went  arter  one  situation,  and, 
if  it  hadn't  ha'  been  for  seventy-nine  other 
men,  he  said  he  believed  he'd  ha'  had  a  good 
chance  of  getting  it.  As  it  was,  all  'e  got 
was  a  black  eye  for  shoving  another  man, 
and  for  a  day  or   two   he   was  so  down-'arted 

10 


Captains  All 

that  'e  was  no  company  at  all  for  the  other 
two. 

For  three  or  four  days  'e  went  out  by  'im- 
self,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  Ginger  Dick 
and  Peter  began  to  notice  a  great  change  in 
him.  He  seemed  to  'ave  got  quite  cheerful 
and  'appy.  He  answered  'em  back  pleasant 
when  they  spoke  to'im,  and  one  night  he  lay 
in  'is  bed  whistling  comic  songs  until  Ginger 
and  Peter  Russet  'ad  to  get  out  o'  bed  to  him. 
When  he  bought  a  new  necktie  and  a  smart 
cap  and  washed  'imself  twice  in  one  day  they 
fust  began  to  ask  each  other  wot  was  up,  and 
then  they  asked  him. 

"Up?"  ses  Sam;  "nothing.'* 

"  He's  in  love,"  ses  Peter  Russet. 

"  You're  a  liar,"  ses  Sam,  without  turning 
round. 

"  He'll  'ave  it  bad  at  'is  age,"  ses  Ginger. 

Sam  didn't  say  nothing,  but  he  kept  fidget- 
ing about  as  though  'e'd  got  something  on  his 
mind.  Fust  he  looked  out  o'  the  winder,  then 
he  'ummed  a  tune,  and  at  last,  looking  at  'em 
very  fierce,  he  took  a  tooth-brush  wrapped  in 

II 


Captains  All 


paper  out  of  'is  pocket  and  began  to  clean  'is 
teeth. 

"  He  is  in  love,"  ses  Ginger,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak. 

"  Or  else  *e's  gorn  mad,"  ses  Peter,  watching 
'im.    *' Which  is  it,  Sam?" 

Sam  made  believe  that  he  couldn't  answer 
'im  because  o'  the  tooth-brush,  and  arter  he'd 
finished  he  'ad  such  a  raging  toothache  that 
'e  sat  in  a  comer  holding  'is  face  and  looking 
the  pictur'  o'  misery.  They  couldn't  get  a 
word  out  of  him  till  they  asked  'im  to  go  out 
with  them,  and  then  he  said  'e  was  going  to 
bed.  Twenty  minutes  arterwards,  when  Gin- 
ger Dick  stepped  back  for  'is  pipe,  he  found  he 
'ad  gorn. 

He  tried  the  same  game  next  night,  but  the 
other  two  wouldn't  'ave  it,  and  they  stayed  in 
so  long  that  at  last  'e  lost  'is  temper,  and,  arter 
wondering  wot  Ginger's  father  and  mother 
could  ha'  been  a-thinking  about,  and  saying 
that  he  believed  Peter  Russet  'ad  been  changed 
at  birth  for  a  sea-sick  monkey,  he  put  on  'is 
cap  and  went  out.     Both  of  'em  follered  'im 

12 


Captains  All 

sharp,  but  when  he  led  'em  to  a  mission-hall, 
and  actually  went  inside,  they  left  'im  and 
went  off  on  their  own. 

They  talked  it  over  that  night  between 
themselves,  and  next  evening  they  went  out 
fust  and  hid  themselves  round  the  corner. 
Ten  minutes  arterwards  old  Sam  came  out, 
walking  as  though  'e  was  going  to  catch  a 
train;  and  smiling  to  think  'ow  he  'ad  shaken 
them  off.  At  the  corner  of  Commercial  Road 
he  stopped  and  bought  'imself  a  button-hole 
for  'is  coat,  and  Ginger  was  so  surprised  that 
'e  pinched  Peter  Russet  to  make  sure  that  he 
wasn't  dreaming. 

Old  Sam  walked  straight  on  whistling,  and 
every  now  and  then  looking  down  at  'is  button- 
hole, until  by-and-by  he  turned  down  a  street 
on  the  right  and  went  into  a  little  shop. 
Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  waited  for  'im  at  the 
corner,  but  he  was  inside  for  so  long  that  at 
last  they  got  tired  o'  waiting  and  crept  up  and 
peeped  through  the  winder. 

It  was  a  little  tobacconist's  shop,  with 
newspapers  and  penny  toys  and  such-like; 
13 


Captains  All 

but,  as  far  as  Ginger  could  see  through  two 
rows  o'  pipes  and  the  Police  News,  it  was 
empty.  They  stood  there  with  their  noses 
pressed  against  the  glass  for  some  time,  wonder- 
ing wot  had  'appened  to  Sam,  but  by-and-by 
a  little  boy  went  in  and  then  they  began  to 
*ave  an  idea  wot  Sam's  little  game  was. 

As  the  shop-bell  went  the  door  of  a  little 
parlour  at  the  back  of  the  shop  opened,  and 
a  stout  and  uncommon  good-looking  woman 
of  about  forty  came  out.  Her  'ead  pushed 
the  Police  News  out  o'  the  way  and  her  'and 
came  groping  into  the  winder  arter  a  toy. 
Ginger  'ad  a  good  look  at  'er  out  o'  the  corner 
of  one  eye,  while  he  pretended  to  be  looking 
at  a  tobacco-jar  with  the  other.  As  the  little 
boy  came  out  'im  and  Peter  Russet  went  in. 

"  I  want  a  pipe,  please,"  he  ses,  smiling  at 
'er;  "  a  clay  pipe — one  o'  your  best." 

The  woman  handed  'im  down  a  box  to 
choose  from,  and  just  then  Peter,  wot  'ad 
been  staring  in  at  the  arf-open  door  at  a  boot 
wot  wanted  lacing  up,  gave  a  big  start  and 
ses,  "Why I    HaUoa!" 

14 


Captains  All 

"  Wot's  the  matter? "  ses  the  woman, 
looking  at  'im. 

"  I'd  know  that  foot  anywhere,"  ses  Peter, 
still  staring  at  it;  and  the  words  was  hardly 
out  of  'is  mouth  afore  the  foot  'ad  moved 
itself  away  and  tucked  itself  under  its  chair. 
"  Why,  that's  my  dear  old  friend  Sam  Small, 
ain't  it?" 

"Do  you  know  the  captin?"  ses  the 
woman,  smiling  at  'im. 

"  Cap ?  "  ses  Peter.    "  Cap ?    Oh, 

yes;  why,  he's  the  biggest  friend  I've  got." 

"  'Ow  strange !  "  ses  the  woman. 

"  We've  been  wanting  to  see  'im  for  some 
time,"  ses  Ginger.  "  He  was  kind  enough 
to  lend  me  arf  a  crown  the  other  day,  and  I've 
been  wanting  to  pay  'im." 

"  Captin  Small,"  ses  the  woman,  pushing 
open  the  door,  "  here's  some  old  friends  o' 
yours." 

Old  Sam  turned  'is  face  round  and  looked 
at  'em,  and  if  looks  could  ha'  killed,  as  the 
saying  is,  they'd  ha'  been  dead  men  there  and' 
then. 

15 


Captains  All 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  ses,  in  a  choking  voice; 
"  'ow  are  you  ?  " 

*'  Pretty  well,  thank  you,  captin,^^  ses  Ginger, 
grinning  at  'im;  "  and  'ow's  yourself  arter  all 
this  long  time  ?  " 

He  held  out  'is  hand  and  Sam  shook  it, 
and  then  shook  'ands  with  Peter  Russet,  who 
was  grinning  so  'ard  that  he  couldn't  speak. 

"  These  are  two  old  friends  o'  mine,  Mrs. 
Finch,"  ses  old  Sam,  giving  'em  a  warning 
look;  "  Captin  Dick  and  Captin  Russet,  two 
o'  the  oldest  and  best  friends  a  man  ever 
'ad." 

"  Captin  Dick  'as  got  arf  a  crown  for  you," 
ses  Peter  Russet,  still  grinning. 

"  There  now,"  ses  Ginger,  looking  vexed, 
"  if  I  ain't  been  and  forgot  it;  I've  on'y  got 
arf  a  sovereign." 

"  I  can  give  you  change,  sir,"  ses  Mrs. 
Finch.  "  P'r'aps  you'd  like  to  sit  down  for 
five  minutes?  " 

Ginger  thanked  'er,  and  'im  and  Peter 
Russet  took  a  chair  apiece  in  front  o'  the  fire 
and  began   asking  old  Sam   about  'is   'ealth, 

i6 


Captains  All 

and  wot  he'd  been  doing  since  they  saw  'im 
last. 

"  Fancy  your  reckernizing  his  foot,"  ses 
Mrs.  Finch,  coming  in  with  the  change. 

"  I'd  know  it  anywhere,"  ses  Peter,  who 
was  watching  Ginger  pretending  to  give  Sam 
Small  the  'arf-dollar,  and  Sam  pretending  in 
a  most  lifelike  manner  to  take  it. 

Ginger  Dick  looked  round  the  room.  It 
was  a  comfortable  little  place,  with  pictures 
on  the  walls  and  antimacassars  on  all  the  chairs, 
and  a  row  of  pink  vases  on  the  mantelpiece. 
Then  'e  looked  at  Mrs.  Finch,  and  thought 
wot  a  nice-looking  woman  she  was. 

"  This  is  nicer  than  being  aboard  ship  with 
a  crew  o'  nasty,  troublesome  sailormen  to  look 
arter,  Captin  Small,"  he  ses. 

"  It's  wonderful  the  way  he  manages  'cm," 
ses  Peter  Russet  to  Mrs.  Finch.  "  Like  a  lion 
he  is." 

"  A  roaring  lion,"  ses  Ginger,  looking  at 
Sam.    "  He  don't  know  wot  fear  is." 

Sam  began  to  smile,  and  Mrs.  Finch  looked 
at  'im  so  pleased  that  Peter  Russet,  who  'ad 
17 


Captains  All 

been  looking  at  'er  and  the  room,  and  thinking 
much  the  same  way  as  Ginger,  began  to  think 
that  they  was  on  the  wrong  tack. 

"  Afore  'e  got  stout  and  old,"  he  ses,  shaking 
his  'ead,  "  there  wasn't  a  smarter  skipper 
afloat." 

"  We  all  'ave  our  day,"  ses  Ginger,  shaking 
his  'ead  too. 

"  I  dessay  he's  good  for  another  year  or  two 
afloat,  yet,"  ses  Peter  Russet,  considering. 

"  With  care,"  ses  Ginger. 

Old  Sam  was  going  to  say  something,  but 
'e  stopped  himself  just  in  time.  "  They  will 
'ave  their  joke,"  he  ses,  turning  to  Mrs.  Finch 
and  trying  to  smile.  "  I  feel  as  young  as  ever 
I  did." 

Mrs.  Finch  said  that  anybody  with  arf  an 
eye  could  see  that,  and  then  she  looked  at  a 
kettle  that  was  singing  on  the  'ob. 

"  I  s'pose  you  gentlemen  wouldn't  care  for 
a  cup  o'  cocoa?  "  she  ses,  turning  to  them. 

Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  both  said  that  they 
liked  it  better  than  anything  else,  and,  arter 
she  'ad  got  out  the  cups  and  saucers  and  a 

i8 


Captains  All 

tin  o'  cocoa,  Ginger  held  the  kettle  and  poured 
the  water  In  the  cups  while  she  stirred  them, 
and  old  Sam  sat  looking  on  'elpless. 

"  It  does  seem  funny  to  see  you  drinking 
cocoa,  captin,"  ses  Ginger,  as  old  Sam  took 
his  cup. 

"Ho!"  ses  Sam,  firing  up;  "and  why, 
if  I  might  make  so  bold  as  to  ask?  " 

"  'Cos  I've  generally  seen  you  drinking 
something  out  of  a  bottle,"  ses  Ginger. 

"  Now,  look  'ere,"  ses  Sam,  starting  up  and 
spilling  some  of  the  hot  cocoa  over  'is  lap. 

"  A  ginger-beer  bottle,"  ses  Peter  Russet, 
making  faces  at  Ginger  to  keep  quiet. 

"  Yes,  o'  course,  that's  wot  I  meant,"  ses 
Ginger. 

Old  Sam  wiped  the  cocoa  off  'is  knees  with- 
out saying  a  word,  but  his  weskit  kept  going 
up  and  down  till  Peter  Russet  felt  quite  sorry 
for  'im. 

"  There's  nothing  like  it,"  he  ses  to  Mrs. 

Finch.    "  It    was    by    sticking    to    ginger-beer 

and  milk  and  such-like  that  Captain  Small  'ad 

command  of  a  ship  afore  'e  was  twenty-five." 

19 


Captains  All 

"Lor'!"sesMrs.  Finch. 

She  smiled  at  old  Sam  till  Peter  got  uneasy 
agin,  and  began  to  think  p'r'aps  'e'd  been 
praising  'im  too  much. 

"  Of  course,  I'm  speaking  of  long  ago  now," 
he  ses. 

"  Years  and  years  afore  you  was  born, 
ma'am,"  ses  Ginger. 

Old  Sam  was  going  to  say  something,  but 
Mrs.  Finch  looked  so  pleased  that  'e  thought 
better  of  it.  Some  o'  the  cocoa  'e  was  drinking 
went  the  wrong  way,  and  then  Ginger  patted 
'im  on  the  back  and  told  'im  to  be  careful  not 
to  bring  on  'is  brownchitis  agin.  Wot  with 
temper  and  being  afraid  to  speak  for  fear  they 
should  let  Mrs.  Finch  know  that  'e  wasn't  a 
captin,  he  could  'ardly  bear  'imself,  but  he  very 
near  broke  out  when  Peter  Russet  advised 
'im  to  'ave  his  weskit  lined  with  red  flannel. 
They  all  stayed  on  till  closing  time,  and  by  the 
time  they  left  they  'ad  made  theirselves  so 
pleasant  that  Mrs.  Finch  said  she'd  be  pleased 
to  see  them  any  time  they  liked  to  look  in. 

Sam  Small  waited  till  they  'ad  turned  the 
20 


Captains  All 

corner,  and  then  he  broke  out  so  alarming  that 
they  could  'ardly  do  anything  with  'im.  Twice 
policemen  spoke  to  'im  and  advised  Mm  to  go 
home  afore  they  altered  their  minds;  and  he 
'ad  to  hold  'imself  in  and  keep  quiet  while 
Ginger  and  Peter  Russet  took  'is  arms  and 
said  they  were  seeing  him  'ome. 

He  started  the  row  agin  when  they  got  in- 
doors, and  sat  up  in  'is  bed  smacking  'is  lips 
over  the  things  he'd  like  to  'ave  done  to  them 
if  he  could.  And  then,  arter  saying  'ow  he'd 
like  to  see  Ginger  boiled  alive  like  a  lobster,  he 
said  he  knew  that  'e  was  a  noble-'arted  feller 
who  wouldn't  try  and  cut  an  old  pal  out,  and 
that  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight  on  top 
of  a  tram-car. 

"  She's  too  young  for  you,"  ses  Ginger; 
"  and  too  good-looking  besides." 

"  It's  the  nice  little  bisness  he's  fallen  in 
love  with,  Ginger,"  ses  Peter  Russet.  *'  I'll 
toss  you  who  'as  it." 

Ginger,  who  was  siting  on  the  foot  o'  Sam's 
bed,  said  "  no  "  at  fust,  but  arter  a  time  he 
pulled  out  arf  a  dollar  and  spun  it  in  the  air. 

21 


Captains  All 

That  was  the  last  'e  see  of  it,  although  he  'ad 
Sam  out  o'  bed  and  all  the  clothes  stripped  off 
of  it  twice.  He  spent  over  arf  an  hour  on  his 
'ands  and  knees  looking  for  it,  and  Sam  said 
when  he  was  tired  of  playing  bears  p'r'aps 
he'd  go  to  bed  and  get  to  sleep  like  a  Christian. 

They  'ad  it  all  over  agin  next  morning, 
and  at  last,  as  nobody  would  agree  to  keep 
quiet  and  let  the  others  'ave  a  fair  chance, 
they  made  up  their  minds  to  let  the  best  man 
win.  Ginger  Dick  bought  a  necktie  that 
took  all  the  colour  out  o'  Sam's,  and  Peter 
Russet  went  in  for  a  collar  so  big  that  'e  was 
lost  in  it. 

They  all  strolled  into  the  widow's  shop 
separate  that  night.  Ginger  Dick  'ad  smashed 
his  pipe  and  wanted  another;  Peter  Russet 
wanted  some  tobacco;  and  old  Sam  Small 
walked  in  smiling,  with  a  little  silver  brooch 
for  'er,  that  he  said  'e  had  picked  up. 

It  was  a  very  nice  brooch,  and  Mrs.  Finch 
was  so  pleased  with  it  that  Ginger  and  Peter 
sat  there  as  mad  as  they  could  be  because  they 
'adn't  thought  of  the  same  thing. 

22 


Captains  All 

"  Captain  Small  is  very  lucky  at  finding 
things,"  ses  Ginger,  at  last. 

"  He's  got  the  name  for  it,"  ses  Peter  Russet. 

"  It's  a  handy  'abit,"  ses  Ginger;  "  it  saves 
spending  money.  Who  did  you  give  that  gold 
bracelet  to  you  picked  up  the  other  night, 
captin?"  he  ses,  turning  to  Sam. 

"Gold  bracelet?"  ses  Sam.  "I  didn't 
pick  up  no  gold  bracelet.  Wot  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"All  right,  captin;  no  offence,"  ses  Ginger, 
holding  up  his  'and.  "  I  dreamt  I  saw  one 
on  your  mantelpiece,  I  s'pose.  P'r'aps  I 
oughtn't  to  ha'  said  anything  about  it." 

Old  Sam  looked  as  though  he'd  like  to  eat 
'im,  especially  as  he  noticed  Mrs.  Finch  listen- 
ing and  pretending  not  to.  "  Oh !  that  one," 
he  ses,  arter  a  bit  o'  hard  thinking.  "  Oh!  I 
found  out  who  it  belonged  to.  You  wouldn't 
believe  'ow  pleased  they  was  at  getting  it  back 
agin." 

Ginger  Dick  coughed  and  began  to  think 
as  'ow  old  Sam  was  sharper  than  he  'ad  given 
'im  credit  for,  but  afore  he  could  think  of  any- 
23 


Captains  All 

thing  else  to  say  Mrs.  Finch  looked  at  old  Sam 
and  began  to  talk  about  'is  ship,  and  to  say 
'ow  much  she  should  like  to  see  over  it. 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  you,"  ses  Sam,  looking 
at  the  other  two  out  o*  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
"  but  my  ship's  over  at  Dunkirk,  in  France. 
I've  just  run  over  to  London  for  a  week  or  two 
to  look  round." 

"  And  mine's  there  too,"  ses  Peter  Russet, 
speaking  a'most  afore  old  Sam  'ad  finished; 
"  side  by  side  they  lay  in  the  harbour." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  ses  Mrs.  Finch,  folding  her 
'ands  and  shaking  her  'ead.  "  I  should  like 
to  go  over  a  ship  one  arternoon.  I'd  quite 
made  up  my  mind  to  it,  knowing  three  captins." 

She  smiled  and  looked  at  Ginger;  and  Sam 
and  Peter  looked  at  'im  too,  wondering  whether 
he  was  going  to  berth  his  ship  at  Dunkirk 
alongside  o'  theirs. 

"  Ah,  I  wish  I  'ad  met  you  a  fortnight  ago," 
ses  Ginger,  very  sad.  "  I  gave  up  my  ship, 
the  Highflyer,  then,  and  I'm  waiting  for  one 
my  owners  are  'aving  built  for  me  at  New- 
castle. They  said  the  Highflyer  wasn't  big 
24 


Captains  All 

enough  for  me.  She  was  a  nice  little  ship, 
though.  I  believe  I've  got  'er  picture  some- 
where about  me !  " 

He  felt  in  'is  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  little, 
crumpled-up  photograph  of  a  ship  he'd  been 
fireman  aboard  of  some  years  afore,  and  showed 
it  to  'er. 

"  That's  me  standing  on  the  bridge,"  he 
ses,  pointing  out  a  little  dot  with  the  stem  of 
'is  pipe. 

"  It's  your  figger,"  ses  Mrs.  Finch,  straining 
her  eyes.     "  I  should  know  it  anywhere." 

"  You've  got  wonderful  eyes,  ma'am,"  ses 
old  Sam,  choking  with  'is  pipe. 

*'  Anybody  can  see  that,"  ses  Ginger. 
"  They're  the  largest  and  the  bluest  I've  ever 
seen." 

Mrs.  Finch  told  'Im  not  to  talk  nonsense, 
but  both  Sam  and  Peter  Russet  could  see  'ow 
pleased  she  was. 

"  Truth  is  truth,"  ses  Ginger.  "  I'm  a 
plain  man,  and  I  speak  my  mind." 

"  Blue  is  my  fav'rit'  colour,"  ses  old  Sam, 
in  a  tender  voice.    "  True  blue." 
25 


Captains  All 

Peter  Russet  began  to  feel  out  of  It.  "  I 
thought  brown  was,"  he  ses. 

"Ho!"  ses  Sam,  turning  on  'Im;  "and 
why?" 

"  I  'ad  my  reasons,"  ses  Peter,  nodding, 
and  shutting  'is  mouth  very  firm. 

"  I  thought  brown  was  'Is  fav'rit'  colour 
too,"  ses  Ginger,  "  I  don't  know  why.  It's 
no  use  asking  me;  because  If  you  did  I  couldn't 
tell  you." 

"  Brown's  a  very  nice  colour,"  ses  Mrs. 
Finch,  wondering  wot  was  the  matter  with  old 
Sam. 

"  Blue,"  ses  Ginger;  "  big  blue  eyes — they're 
the  ones  for  me.  Other  people  may  'ave 
their  blacks  and  their  browns,"  he  ses,  looking 
at  Sam  and  Peter  Russet,  "  but  give  me  blue." 

They  went  on  like  that  all  the  evening,  and 
every  time  the  shop-bell  went  and  the  widow 
'ad  to  go  out  to  serve  a  customer  they  said  in 
w'Ispers  wot  they  thought  of  each  other;  and 
once  when  she  came  back  rather  sudden 
Ginger  'ad  to  explain  to  'er  that  'e  was  showing 
Peter  Russet  a  scratch  on  his  knuckle. 
26 


Captains  All 

Ginger  Dick  was  the  fust  there  next  night, 
and  took  'er  a  little  chiney  teapot  he  'ad  picked 
up  dirt  cheap  because  it  was  cracked  right 
acrost  the  middle;  but,  as  he  explained  that 
he  'ad  dropped  it  in  hurrying  to  see  'cr,  she 
was  just  as  pleased.  She  stuck  it  up  on  the 
mantelpiece,  and  the  things  she  said  about 
Ginger's  kindness  and  generosity  made  Peter 
Russet  spend  good  money  that  he  wanted 
for  'imself  on  a  painted  flower-pot  next  evening. 

With  three  men  all  courting  'er  at  the  same 
time  Mrs.  Finch  had  'er  hands  full,  but  she 
took  to  it  wonderful  considering.  She  was 
so  nice  and  kind  to  'em  all  that  even  arter  a 
week's  'ard  work  none  of  'em  was  really  certain 
which  she  liked  best. 

They  took  to  going  in  at  odd  times  o'  the 
day  for  tobacco  and  such-like.  They  used 
to  go  alone  then,  but  they  all  met  and  did 
the  polite  to  each  other  there  of  an  evening, 
and  then  quarrelled  all  the  way  'ome. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden,  without  any  warning. 
Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  Russet  left  ofF  going 
there.  The  fust  evening  Sam  sat  expecting 
27 


Captains  All 

them  every  minute,  and  was  so  surprised 
that  he  couldn't  take  any  advantage  of  it;  but 
on  the  second,  beginning  by  squeezing  Mrs. 
Finch's  'and  at  ha'-past  seven,  he  'ad  got  best 
part  of  his  arm  round  'er  waist  by  a  quarter 
to  ten.  He  didn't  do  more  that  night  because 
she  told  him  to  be'ave  'imself,  and  threatened 
to  scream  if  he  didn't  leave  off. 

He  was  arf-way  home  afore  'e  thought  of 
the  reason  for  Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  Russet 
giving  up,  and  then  he  went  along  smiling  to 
'imself  to  such  an  extent  that  people  thought 
'e  was  mad.  He  went  off  to  sleep  with  the 
smile  still  on  'is  lips,  and  when  Peter  and 
Ginger  came  in  soon  arter  closing  time  and 
'e  woke  up  and  asked  them  where  they'd  been, 
'e  was  still  smiling. 

"  I  didn't  'ave  the  pleasure  o'  seeing  you  at 
Mrs.  Finch's  to-night,"  he  ses. 

"  No,"  ses  Ginger,  very  short.  "  We  got 
tired  of  it." 

"  So  un'ealthy  sitting  in  that  stuffy  little 
room  every  evening,"  ses  Peter. 

Old  Sam  put  his  'ead  under  the  bedclothes 
28 


Captains  All 

and  laughed  till  the  bed  shook;  and  every 
now  and  then  he'd  put  his  'ead  out  and  look  at 
Peter  and  Ginger  and  laugh  agin  till  he  choked. 

"  I  see  'ow  it  is,"  he  ses,  sitting  up  and 
wiping  his  eyes  on  the  sheet.  "  Well,  we 
can't  all  win." 

"Wot  d'ye  mean?"  ses  Ginger,  very  dis- 
agreeable. 

"  She  wouldn't  'ave  you,"  ses  Sam,  "  that's 
wot  I  mean.  And  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  I 
wouldn't  'aVe  you  if  I  was  a  gal." 

"  You're  dreaming,"  ses  Peter  Russet,  sneer- 
ing at  'im. 

"  That  flower-pot  o'  yours'll  come  in  handy," 
ses  Sam,  thinking  'ow  he  'ad  put  'is  arm  round 
the  widow's  waist;  "and  I  thank  you  kindly 
for  the  teapot.  Ginger." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  as  you've  asked  'er 
to  marry  you  ?  "  ses  Ginger,  looking  at  Peter 
Russet. 

"Not  quite;  but  Pm  going  to,"  ses  Sam, 
"  and  PU  bet  you  even  arf-crowns  she  ses 
*  yes.'  " 

Ginger  wouldn't  take  'im,  and  no  more 
29 


Captains  All 

would  Peter,  not  even  when  he  raised  it  to 
five  shillings;  and  the  vain  way  old  Sam  lay 
there  boasting  and  talking  about  'is  way  with 
the  gals  made  'em  both  feel  ill. 

"  I  wouldn't  'ave  her  if  she  asked  me  on  'er 
bended  knees,"  ses  Ginger,  holding  up  his  *ead. 

"  Nor  me,"  ses  Peter.  "  You're  welcome 
to  'er,  Sam.  When  I  think  of  the  evenings 
I've  wasted  over  a  fat  old  woman  I  feel " 

"That'll  do,"  ses  old  Sam,  very  sharp; 
"  that  ain't  the  way  to  speak  of  a  lady,  even  if 
she  'as  said  '  no.'  " 

"  All  right,  Sam,"  ses  Ginger.  "  You  go  in 
and  win  if  you  think  you're  so  precious  clever." 

Old  Sam  said  that  that  was  wot  'e  was  going 
to  do,  and  he  spent  so  much  time  next  morning 
making  'imself  look  pretty  that  the  other  two 
could  'ardly  be  civil  to  him. 

He  went  off  a'most  direckly  arter  breakfast, 
and  they  didn't  see  'im  agin  till  twelve  o'clock 
that  night.  He  'ad  brought  a  bottle  o'  whisky 
in  with  'im,  and  he  was  so  'appy  that  they  see 
plain  wot  had  'appened. 

*'  She  said  '  yes  '  at  two  o'clock  in  the  arter- 
30 


Captains  All 

noon,"  ses  old  Sam,  smiling,  arter  they  had 
'ad  a  glass  apiece.  "  I'd  nearly  done  the  trick 
at  one  o'clock,  and  then  the  shop-bell  went, 
and  I  'ad  to  begin  all  over  agin.  Still,  it 
wasn't  unpleasant." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  us  you've  asked  'er 
to  marry  you?"  ses  Ginger,  'olding  out  'is 
glass  to  be  filled  agin. 

"I  do,"  ses  Sam;  "but  I  'ope  there's  no 
ill-feeling.  You  never  'ad  a  chance,  neither 
of  you;  she  told  me  so." 

Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  Russet  stared  at 
each  other. 

"  She  said  she  'ad  been  in  love  with  me  all 
along,"  ses  Sam,  filling  their  glasses  agin  to 
cheer  'em  up.  "  We  went  out  arter  tea  and 
bought  the  engagement-ring,  and  then  she 
got  somebody  to  mind  the  shop  and  we  went 
to  the  Pagoda  music-'all." 

"  I  'ope  you  didn't  pay  much  for  the  ring, 
Sam,"  ses  Ginger,  who  always  got  very  kind- 
'arted  arter  two  or  three  glasses  o'  whisky. 
"  If  I'd  known  you  was  going  to  be  in  such  a 
hurry  I  might  ha'  told  you  before." 
31 


Captains  All 


"  We  ought  to  ha'  done,"  ses  Peter,  shaking 
his  'ead. 

"  Told  me?  "  ses  Sam,  staring  at  'em.  "  Told 
me  wot?  " 

"  Why  me  and  Peter  gave  it  up,"  ses  Ginger; 
"  but,  o'  course,  p'r'aps  you  don't  mind." 

"  Mind  wot?  "  ses  Sam, 

"  It's  wonderful  'ow  quiet  she  kept  it,"  ses 
Peter. 

Old  Sam  stared  at  'em  agin,  and  then  he 
asked  'em  to  speak  in  plain  English  wot  they'd 
got  to  say,  and  not  to  go  taking  away  the 
character  of  a  woman  wot  wasn't  there  to 
speak  up  for  herself. 

"  It's  nothing  agin  'er  character,"  ses  Ginger. 

"  It's  a  credit  to  her,  looked  at  properly," 
ses  Peter  Russet. 

"  And  Sam'll  'ave  the  pleasure  of  bringing 
of  'em  up,"  ses  Ginger. 

''  Bringing  of  'em  up?"  ses  Sam,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice  and  turning  pale;  "bringing  who 
up?" 

"  Why,  'er  children,"  ses  Ginger.     "  Didn't 
she  tell  you  ?    She's  got  nine  of  'em." 
32 


Captains  All 

Sam  pretended  not  to  believe  'em  at  fust, 
and  said  they  was  jealous;  but  next  day  he 
crept  down  to  the  greengrocer's  shop  in  the 
same  street,  where  Ginger  had  'appened  to 
buy  some  oranges  one  day,  and  found  that  it 
was  only  too  true.  Nine  children,  the  eldest 
of  'em  only  fifteen,  was  staying  with  diff'rent 
relations  owing  to  scarlet-fever  next  door. 

Old  Sam  crept  back  'ome  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  with  a  bag  of  oranges  he  didn't  want, 
and,  arter  making  a  present  of  the  engagement- 
ring  to  Ginger — if  'e  could  get  it — he  took  the 
fust  train  to  Tilbury  and  signed  on  for  a  v'y'ge 
to  China. 


33 


THE    BOATSWAIN'S 
MATE 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

MR.  GEORGE  BENN,  retired  boat- 
swain, sighed  noisily,  and  with  a 
despondent  gesture,  turned  to  the  door  and 
stood  with  the  handle  In  his  hand;  Mrs. 
Waters,  sitting  behind  the  tiny  bar  In  a  tall 
Windsor-chair,  eyed  him  with  some  heat. 

"  My  feelings'U  never  change,"  said  the 
boatswain. 

"  Nor  mine  either,"  said  the  landlady, 
sharply.  "  It's  a  strange  thing,  Mr.  Benn, 
but  you  always  ask  me  to  marry  you  after  the 
third  mug." 

*'  It's  only  to  get  my  courage  up,"  pleaded 
the  boatswain.  "  Next  time  I'll  do  It  afore 
I  'ave  a  drop;  that'll  prove  to  you  I'm  In 
earnest." 

He  stepped  outside  and  closed  the  door 
before  the  landlady  could  make  a  selection 
from  the  many  retorts  that  crowded  to  her  lips. 
37 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

After  the  cool  bar,  with  Its  smell  of  damp  saw- 
dust, the  road  seemed  hot  and  dusty;  but  the 
boatswain,  a  prey  to  gloom  natural  to  a  man 
whose  hand  has  been  refused  five  times  in  a 
fortnight,  walked  on  unheeding.  His  steps 
lagged,  but  his  brain  was  active. 

He  walked  for  two  miles  deep  in  thought, 
and  then  coming  to  a  shady  bank  took  a  seat 
upon  an  inviting  piece  of  turf  and  lit  his  pipe. 
The  heat  and  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees  made  him 
nod;  his  pipe  hung  from  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  and  his  eyes  closed. 

He  opened  them  at  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps,  and,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  matches, 
gazed  lazily  at  the  Intruder.  He  saw  a  tall 
man  carrying  a  small  bundle  over  his  shoulder, 
and  In  the  erect  carriage,  the  keen  eyes,  and 
bronzed  face  had  little  difficulty  In  detecting 
the  old  soldier. 

The  stranger  stopped  as  he  reached  the 
seated  boatswain  and  eyed  him  pleasantly. 

"  Got  a  pipe  o'  baccy,  mate?  "  he  Inquired. 

The  boatswain  handed  him  the  small  metal 
box  in  which  he  kept  that  luxury. 

38 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"Lobster,  ain't  you?"  he  said,  affably. 

The  tall  man  nodded.  "  Was,"  he  replied. 
"  Now  I'm  my  own  commander-in-chief." 

"  Padding  it? "  suggested  the  boatswain, 
taking  the  box  from  him  and  refilling  his  pipe. 

The  other  nodded,  and  with  the  air  of  one 
disposed  to  conversation  dropped  his  bundle  in 
the  ditch  and  took  a  seat  beside  him.  "  I've 
got  plenty  of  time,"  he  remarked. 

Mr.  Benn  nodded,  and  for  a  while  smoked 
on  in  silence.  A  dim  idea  which  had  been  in 
his  mind  for  some  time  began  to  clarify.  He 
stole  a  glance  at  his  companion — a  man  of 
about  thirty-eight,  clear  eyes,  with  humorous 
wrinkles  at  the  corners,  a  heavy  moustache, 
and  a  cheerful  expression  more  than  tinged 
with  recklessness. 

"  Ain't  over  and  above  fond  o'  work? " 
suggested  the  boatswain,  when  he  had  finished 
his  inspection. 

"  I  love  it,"  said  the  other,  blowing  a  cloud 
of  smoke  in  the  air,  "  but  we  can't  have  all  we 
want  in  this  world;  it  wouldn't  be  good  for 


us." 


39 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

The  boatswain  thought  of  Mrs.  Waters,  and 
sighed.     Then  he  rattled  his  pocket. 

"  Would  arf  a  quid  be  any  good  to  you?  " 
he  inquired. 

"Look  here,"  began  the  soldier;  "just 
because  I  asked  you  for  a  pipe  o'  baccy " 

*'  No  offence,"  said  the  other,  quickly.  "  I 
mean  if  you  earned  it?  " 

The  soldier  nodded  and  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth.  "Gardening  and  windows?"  he 
hazarded,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

The  boatswain  shook  his  head. 

"  Scrubbing,  p'r'aps?  "  said  the  soldier,  with 
a  sigh  of  resignation.  "  Last  house  I  scrubbed 
out  I  did  it  so  thoroughly  they  accused  me  of 
pouching  the  soap.    Hang  'em !  " 

"  And  you  didn't?  "  queried  the  boatswain, 
eyeing  him  keenly. 

The  soldier  rose  and,  knocking  the  ashes  out 
of  his  pipe,  gazed  at  him  darkly.  "  I  can't 
give  it  back  to  you,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  because 
I've  smoked  some  of  it,  and  I  can't  pay  you  for 
it  because  I've  only  got  twopence,  and  that  I 
want  for  myself.     So  long,  matey,  and  next 

40 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

time  a  poor  wretch  asks  you  for  a  pipe,  be 
civil." 

"  I  never  see  such  a  man  for  taking  offence 
in  all  my  born  days,"  expostulated  the  boat- 
swain. "  I  'ad  my  reasons  for  that  remark, 
mate.     Good  reasons  they  was." 

The  soldier  grunted  and,  stooping,  picked 
up  his  bundle. 

"  I  spoke  of  arf  a  sovereign  just  now,"  con- 
tinued the  boatswain,  impressively,  "  and  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  offer  it  to  you  to  do  a  bit  o* 
burgling,  you'll  see  'ow  necessary  it  is  for  me  to 
be  certain  of  your  honesty." 

"  Burgling?  "  gasped  the  astonished  soldier. 
"  Honesty  f    'Struth;  are  you  drunk  or  am  I?  '* 

"  Meaning,"  said  the  boatswain,  waving  the 
imputation  away  with  his  hand,  "  for  you  to 
pretend  to  be  a  burglar." 

"  We're  both  drunk,  that's  what  it  Is,'*  said 
the  other,  resignedly. 

The  boatswain  fidgeted.  "  If  you  don't 
agree,  mum's  the  word  and  no  'arm  done,"  he 
said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Mum's  the  word,"  said  the  soldier,  taking 
41 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

it.  "  My  name's  Ned  Travers,  and,  barring 
cells  for  a  spree  now  and  again,  there's  nothing 
against  it.    Mind  that." 

"  Might  'appen  to  anybody,"  said  Mr.  Benn, 
soothingly.  "  You  fill  your  pipe  and  don't  go 
chucking  good  tobacco  away  agin." 

Mr.  Travers  took  the  offered  box  and,  with 
economy  born  of  adversity,  stooped  and  filled 
up  first  with  the  plug  he  had  thrown  away. 
Then  he  resumed  his  seat  and,  leaning  back 
luxuriously,  bade  the  other  "  fire  away." 

"  I  ain't  got  it  all  ship-shape  and  proper 
yet,"  said  Mr.  Benn,  slowly,  "  but  it's  in  my 
mind's  eye.  It's  been  there  off  and  on  like  for 
some  time." 

He  lit  his  pipe  again  and  gazed  fixedly  at  the 
opposite  hedge.  "  Two  miles  from  here, 
where  I  live,"  he  said,  after  several  vigorous 
puffs,  "  there's  a  little  public-'ouse,  called  the 
Beehive,  kept  by  a  lady  wot  I've  got  my  eye  on." 

The  soldier  sat  up. 

"  She  won't  'ave  me,"  said  the  boatswain, 
with  an  air  of  mild  surprise. 

The  soldier  leaned  back  again. 

"  She's  a  lone  widder,"  continued  Mr.  Benn, 
42 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

shaking  his  head,  "  and  the  Beehive  Is  In  a 
lonely  place.  It's  right  through  the  village, 
and  the  nearest  house  Is  arf  a  mile  off." 

"  Silly  place  for  a  pub,"  commented  Mr. 
Travers. 

"  I've  been  telling  her  'ow  unsafe  It  Is,"  said 
the  boatswain.  "  I've  been  telling  her  that 
she  wants  a  man  to  protect  her,  and  she  only 
laughs  at  me.  She  don't  believe  It;  d'ye  see? 
Likewise  I'm  a  small  man — small,  but  stiff. 
She  likes  tall  men." 

"  Most  women  do,"  said  Mr.  Travers, 
sitting  upright  and  Instinctively  twisting  his 
moustache.     "  When  I  was  In  the  ranks " 

"  My  idea  Is,"  continued  the  boatswain, 
slightly  raising  his  voice,  "  to  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone — prove  to  her  that  she  does 
want  being  protected,  and  that  I'm  the  man  to 
protect  her.     D'ye  take  my  meaning,  mate?  " 

The  soldier  reached  out  a  hand  and  felt  the 
other's  biceps.  "  Like  a  lump  o'  wood,"  he 
said,  approvingly. 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  the  boatswain,  with 
a  faint  smirk,  "  that  she  loves  me  without 
knowing  it." 

43 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  They  often  do,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  with  a 
grave  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Consequently  I  don't  want  'er  to  be  dis- 
appointed," said  the  other. 

"  It  does  you  credit,"  remarked  Mr.  Travers. 

*'  I've  got  a  good  head,"  said  Mr.  Benn, 
"  else  I  shouldn't  'ave  got  my  rating  as  boat- 
swain as  soon  as  I  did;  and  I've  been  turning 
it  over  in  my  mind,  over  and  over  agin,  till  my 
brain-pan  fair  aches  with  it.  Now,  if  you  do 
what  I  want  you  to  to-night  and  it  comes  off 
all  right,  damme  I'll  make  it  a  quid." 

"Go  on,  Vanderbilt,"  said  Mr.  Travers; 
*'  I'm  listening." 

The  boatswain  gazed  at  him  fixedly.  "  You 
meet  me  'ere  in  this  spot  at  eleven  o'clock  to- 
night," he  said,  solemnly;  "and  I'll  take  you 
to  her  'ouse  and  put  you  through  a  little  winder 
I  know  of.  You  goes  upstairs  and  alarms  her, 
and  she  screams  for  help.  I'm  watching  the 
house,  faithful-like,  and  hear  'er  scream.  I 
dashes  in  at  the  winder,  knocks  you  down,  and 
rescues  her.     D'ye  see?" 

"  I  hear,"  corrected  Mr.  Travers,  coldly. 
44 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  She  clings  to  me,"  continued  the  boat- 
swain, with  a  rapt  expression  of  face,  "  in  her 
gratitood,  and,  proud  of  my  strength  and 
pluck,  she  marries  me," 

"  An'  I  get  a  five  years'  honeymoon,"  said 
the  soldier. 

The  boatswain  shook  his  head  and  patted  the 
other's  shoulder.  "  In  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  you  spring  up  and  escape,"  he  said, 
with  a  kindly  smile.  "  I've  thought  it  all  out. 
You  can  run  much  faster  than  I  can;  any- 
ways, you  will.  The  nearest  'ouse  is  arf  a  mile 
off,  as  I  said,  and  her  servant  is  staying  till  to- 
morrow at  'er  mother's,  ten  miles  away." 

Mr.  Travers  rose  to  his  feet  and  stretched 
himself.  "  Time  I  was  toddling,"  he  said, 
with  a  yawn.    "  Thanks  for  amusing  me,  mate." 

"You  won't  do  it?"  said  the  boatswain, 
eyeing  him  with  much  concern. 

"  I'm  hanged  if  I  do,"  said  the  soldier, 
emphatically.  "  Accidents  will  happen,  and 
then  where  should  I  be?  " 

"  If  they  did,"  said  the  boatswain,  "  I'd  own 
up  and  clear  you." 

45 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  You  might,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  "  and  then 
again  you  mightn't.     So  long,  mate." 

"  I — I'll  make  it  two  quid,"  said  the  boat- 
swain, trembling  with  eagerness.  "  I've  took 
a  fancy  to  you;  you're  just  the  man  for  the 
job." 

The  soldier,  adjusting  his  bundle,  glanced 
at  him  over  his  shoulder.  "  Thankee,"  he 
said,  with  mock  gratitude. 

"  Look  'ere,"  said  the  boatswain,  springing 
up  and  catching  him  by  the  sleeve;  "  I'll  give 
it  to  you  in  writing.  Come,  you  ain't  faint- 
hearted? Why,  a  bluejacket  'ud  do  it  for  the 
fun  o'  the  thing.  If  I  give  it  to  you  in  writing, 
and  there  should  be  an  accident,  it's  worse 
for  me  than  it  is  for  you,  ain't  it?  " 

Mr.  Travers  hesitated  and,  pushing  his  cap 
back,  scratched  his  head. 

"  I  gives  you  the  two  quid  afore  you  go  into 
the  house,"  continued  the  boatswain,  hastily 
following  up  the  impression  he  had  made. 
"  I'd  give  'em  to  you  now  if  I'd  got  'em  with 
me.  That's  my  confidence  in  you;  I  likes  the 
look  of  you.  Soldier  or  sailor,  when  there  is  a 
46 


I  gives  you  the  two  quid  afore  you  go  into  the  house,"  continued  the 
boatswain. 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

man's  work  to  be  done,  give  'em  to  me  afore 
anybody." 

The  soldier  seated  himself  again  and  let  his 
bundle  fall  to  the  ground.  "  Go  on,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "  Write  it  out  fair  and  square  and 
sign  it,  and  I'm  your  man." 

The  boatswain  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder 
and  produced  a  bundle  of  papers  from  his 
pocket.  "  There's  letters  there  with  my  name 
and  address  on  'em,"  he  said.  "  It's  all  fair, 
square,  and  above-board.  When  you've  cast 
your  eyes  over  them  I'll  give  you  the  wri- 
ting."     "      ' 

Mr.  Travers  took  them  and,  re-lighting  his 
pipe,  smoked  in  silence,  with  various  side 
glances  at  his  companion  as  that  enthusiast 
sucked  his  pencil  and  sat  twisting  in  the  agonies 
of  composition.  The  document  finished — 
after  several  failures  had  been  retrieved  and 
burnt  by  the  careful  Mr.  Travers — the  boat- 
swain heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  handing  it 
over  to  him,  leaned  back  with  a  complacent 
air  while  he  read  it. 

"  Seems  all  right,"  said  the  soldier,  folding 
47 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

it  up  and  putting  it  in  his  waistcoat-pocket. 
"  I'll  be  here  at  eleven  to-night." 

"  Eleven  it  is,"  said  the  boatswain,  briskly, 
*'  and,  between  pals — here's  arf  a  dollar  to  go 
on  with." 

He  patted  him  on  the  shoulder  again,  and 
with  a  caution  to  keep  out  of  sight  as  much  as 
possible  till  night  walked  slowly  home.  His 
step  was  light,  but  he  carried  a  face  in  which 
care  and  exultation  were  strangely  mingled. 

By  ten  o'clock  that  night  care  was  in  the 
ascendant,  and  by  eleven,  when  he  discerned 
the  red  glow  of  Mr.  Travers's  pipe  set  as  a 
beacon  against  a  dark  background  of  hedge, 
the  boatswain  was  ready  to  curse  his  inventive 
powers.  Mr.  Travers  greeted  him  cheerily 
and,  honestly  attributing  the  fact  to  good  food 
and  a  couple  of  pints  of  beer  he  had  had  since 
the  boatswain  left  him,  said  that  he  was  ready 
for  anything. 

Mr.    Benn    grunted    and    led    the    way    in 

silence.     There  was  no  moon,  but  the  night 

was  clear,  and  Mr.  Travers,  after  one  or  two 

light-hearted   attempts   at   conversation,    aban- 

48 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

doned  the  effort  and  fell  to  whistling  softly 
instead. 

Except  for  one  lighted  window  the  village 
slept  in  darkness,  but  the  boatswain,  who  had 
been  walking  with  the  stealth  of  a  Red  Indian 
on  the  war-path,  breathed  more  freely  after 
they  had  left  it  behind.  A  renewal  of  his 
antics  a  little  farther  on  apprised  Mr.  Travers 
that  they  were  approaching  their  destination, 
and  a  minute  or  two  later  they  came  to  a 
small  inn  standing  just  off  the  road.  "  All 
shut  up  and  Mrs.  Waters  abed,  bless  her," 
whispered  the  boatswain,  after  walking  care- 
fully round  the  house.     "  How  do  you  feel?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Travers.  "  I  feel 
as  if  I'd  been  burgling  all  my  life.  How  do 
you  feel?  " 

"  Narvous,"  said  Mr.  Benn,  pausing  under  a 
small  window  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  "  This 
is  the  one." 

Mr.  Travers  stepped  back  a  few  paces  and 
gazed  up  at  the  house.  All  was  still.  For  a 
few  moments  he  stood  listening  and  then  re- 
joined the  boatswain. 

49 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  Good-bye,  mate,"  he  said,  hoisting  himself 
on  to  the  sill.     "  Death  or  victory." 

The  boatswain  whispered  and  thrust  a 
couple  of  sovereigns  into  his  hand.  "  Take 
your  time;  there's  no  hurry,"  he  muttered. 
"  I  want  to  pull  myself  together.  Frighten 
'er  enough,  but  not  too  much.  When  she 
screams  I'll  come  in." 

Mr.  Travers  slipped  inside  and  then  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  window.  "  Won't  she 
think  it  funny  you  should  be  so  handy?"  he 
inquired. 

"No;  it's  my  faithful  'art,"  said  the  boat- 
swain, "  keeping  watch  over  her  every  night, 
that's  the  ticket.    She  won't  know  no  better." 

Mr.  Travers  grinned,  and  removing  his 
boots  passed  them  out  to  the  other.  "  We 
don't  want  her  to  hear  me  till  I'm  upstairs,"  he 
whispered.  "  Put  'em  outside,  handy  for  me 
to  pick  up." 

The  boatswain  obeyed,  and  Mr.  Travers — 
who  was  by  no  means  a  good  hand  at  darning 
socks — shivered  as  he  trod  lightly  over  a  stone 
floor.    Then,  following  the  instructions  of  Mr. 

50 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

Benn,  he  made  his  way  to  the  stairs  and 
mounted  noiselessly. 

But  for  a  slight  stumble  half-way  up  his 
progress  was  very  creditable  for  an  amateur. 
He  paused  and  listened  and,  all  being  silent, 
made  his  way  to  the  landing  and  stopped  out- 
side a  door.  Despite  himself  his  heart  was 
beating  faster  than  usual. 

He  pushed  the  door  open  slowly  and  started 
as  it  creaked.  Nothing  happening  he  pushed 
again,  and  standing  just  inside  saw,  by  a  small 
ewer  silhouetted  against  the  casement,  that  he 
was  in  a  bedroom.  He  listened  for  the  sound 
of  breathing,  but  in  vain. 

"Quiet  sleeper,"  he  reflected;  "or  per- 
haps it  is  an  empty  room.  Now,  I  wonder 
whether " 

The  sound  of  an  opening  door  made  him 
start  violently,  and  he  stood  still,  scarcely 
breathing,  with  his  ears  on  the  alert.  A  light 
shone  on  the  landing,  and  peeping  round  the 
door  he  saw  a  woman  coming  along  the  corridor 
— a  younger  and  better-looking  woman  than 
he  had  expected  to  see.  In  one  hand  she  held 
51 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

aloft  a  candle,  in  the  other  she  bore  a  double- 
barrelled  gun.  Mr.  Travers  withdrew  into 
the  room  and,  as  the  light  came  nearer,  slipped 
into  a  big  cupboard  by  the  side  of  the  fireplace 
and,  standing  bolt  upright,  waited.  The  light 
came  into  the  room. 

"  Must  have  been  my  fancy,"  said  a  pleasant 
voice. 

"  Bless  her,"  smiled  Mr.  Travers. 

His  trained  ear  recognized  the  sound  of 
cocking  triggers.  The  next  moment  a  heavy 
body  bumped  against  the  door  of  the  cupboard 
and  the  key  turned  in  the  lock. 

"  Got  you !  "  said  the  voice,  triumphantly. 
"Keep  still;  if  you  try  and  break  out  I  shall 
shoot  you." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  hastily;  "  I 
won't  move." 

"  Better  not,"  said  the  voice.  "  Mind,  I've 
got  a  gun  pointing  straight  at  you." 

"  Point  it  downwards,  there's  a  good  girl," 
said  Mr.  Travers,  earnestly;  "  and  take  your 
finger  off  the  trigger.  If  anything  happened 
to  me  you'd  never  forgive  yourself." 

52 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  It's  all  right  so  long  as  you  don't  move,'* 
said  the  voice;  "  and  I'm  not  a  girl,"  it  added, 
sternly. 

*'  Yes,  you  are,"  said  the  prisoner.  "  I  saw 
you.  I  thought  it  was  an  angel  at  first.  I 
saw  your  little  bare  feet  and " 

A  faint  scream  interrupted  him. 

"  You'll  catch  cold,"  urged  Mr.  Travers. 

"  Don't  you  trouble  about  me,"  said  the 
voice,  tartly. 

"  I  won't  give  any  trouble,"  said  Mr. 
Travers,  who  began  to  think  it  was  time  for 
the  boatswain  to  appear  on  the  scene.  "  Why 
don't  you  call  for  help?     I'll  go  like  a  lamb.'^ 

"  I  don't  want  your  advice,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  know  what  to  do.  Now,  don't  you  try 
and  break  out.  I'm  going  to  fire  one  barrel 
out  of  the  window,  but  I've  got  the  other  one 
for  you  if  you  move." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  protested  the  horrified  Mr. 
Travers,  "  you'll  alarm  the  neighbourhood." 

"  Just  what  I  want  to  do,"  said  the  voice. 
"  Keep  still,  mind." 

Mr.  Travers  hesitated.  The  game  was  up, 
53 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

and  it  was  clear  that  in  any  case  the  stratagem 
of  the  ingenious  Mr.  Benn  would  have  to  be 
disclosed. 

"  Stop !  "  he  said,  earnestly.  "  Don't  do 
anything  rash.  I'm  not  a  burglar;  I'm  doing 
this  for  a  friend  of  yours — Mr.  Benn." 

"  What?  "  said  an  amazed  voice. 

"  True  as  I  stand  here,"  asseverated  Mr. 
Travers.  "  Here,  here's  my  instructions.  I'll 
put  'em  under  the  door,  and  if  you  go  to  the 
back  window  you'll  see  him  in  the  garden 
waiting." 

He  rustled  the  paper  under  the  door,  and 
it  was  at  once  snatched  from  his  fingers.  He 
regained  an  upright  position  and  stood  listening 
to  the  startled  and  indignant  exclamations  of 
his  gaoler  as  she  read  the  boatswain's  permit : — 

"  This  is  to  give  notice  that  I,  George  Benn, 
being  of  sound  mind  and  body,  have  told  Ned 
Travers  to  pretend  to  be  a  burglar  at  Mrs. 
fVaters's.  He  ain't  a  burglar,  and  I  shall  be 
outside  all  the  time.  It's  all  above-board  and 
ship-shape. 

"{Signed)   George  Benn." 
54 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  Sound  mind  —  above-board  —  ship-shape," 
repeated  a  dazed  voice.     "  Where  is  he?  " 

"  Out  at  the  back,"  replied  Mr.  Travers. 
*'  If  you  go  to  the  window  you  can  see  him. 
Now,  do  put  something  round  your  shoulders, 
there's  a  good  girl." 

There  was  no  reply,  but  a  board  creaked. 
He  waited  for  what  seemed  a  long  time,  and 
then  the  board  creaked  again. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  he  inquired. 

"  I  did,"  was  the  sharp  reply.  "  You  both 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves.  You 
ought  to  be  punished." 

"  There  is  a  clothes-peg  sticking  into  the 
back  of  my  head,"  remarked  Mr.  Travers. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  repeated 
Mr.  Travers,  somewhat  uneasily.  "  You  look 
too  nice  to  do  anything  hard;  leastways,  so 
far  as  I  can  judge  through  this  crack." 

There  was  a  smothered  exclamation,  and  then 
sounds  of  somebody  moving  hastily  about  the 
room  and  the  swish  of  clothing  hastily  donned. 
55 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  You  ought  to  have  done  it  before,"  com- 
mented the  thoughtful  Mr.  Travers.  "  It's 
enough  to  give  you  your  death  of  cold." 

"  Mind  your  business,"  said  the  voice, 
sharply.  "  Now,  if  I  let  you  out,  will  you 
promise  to  do  exactly  as  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Honour  bright,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  fer- 
vently. 

"  I'm  going  to  give  Mr.  Benn  a  lesson  he 
won't  forget,"  proceeded  the  other,  griml)f. 
"  I'm  going  to  fire  off  this  gun,  and  then  run 
down  and  tell  him  I've  killed  you." 

"  Eh?  "  said  the  amazed  Mr.  Travers.  "  Oh, 
Lord  I" 

"  H'sh!  Stop  that  laughing,"  commanded 
the  voice.    "  He'll  hear  you.    Be  quiet!  " 

The  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  Mr.  Travers, 
stepping  forth,  clapped  his  hand  over  his 
mouth  and  endeavoured  to  obey.  Mrs. 
Waters,  stepping  back  with  the  gun  ready, 
scrutinized  him  closely. 

"  Come  on  to  the  landing,"  said  Mr.  Travers, 
eagerly.      "  We   don't  want   anybody   else   to 
hear.    Fire  into  this.'* 
56 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

He  snatched  a  patchwork  rug  from  the 
floor  and  stuck,  it  up  against  the  balusters. 

"  You  stay  here,"  said  Mrs.  Waters. 

He  nodded. 

She  pointed  the  gun  at  the  hearth-rug,  the 
walls  shook  with  the  explosion,  and,  with  a 
shriek  that  set  Mr.  Travers's  teeth  on  edge, 
she  rushed  downstairs  and,  drawing  back  the 
bolts  of  the  back  door,  tottered  outside  and 
into  the  arms  of  the  agitated  boatswain. 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  she  cried. 

"What — what's  the  matter?"  gasped  the 
boatswain. 

The  widow  struggled  in  his  arms.  "  A 
burglar,"  she  said,  in  a  tense  whisper.  "  But 
it's  all  right;  I've  killed  him." 

"  Kill "  stuttered  the  other.     "  Kill 

Killed  him?" 

Mrs.  Waters  nodded  and  released  herself, 
"  First  shot,"  she  said,  with  a  satisfied 
air. 

The  boatswain  wrung  his  hands.      "  Good 
heavens!  "  he  said,  moving  slowly  towards  the 
door.     "Poor  fellow!" 
57 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  Come  back,"  said  the  widow,  tugging  at 
his  coat. 

"  I  was — was  going  to  see — ^whether  I  could 
do  anything  for  'im,"  quavered  the  boatswain. 
"Poor  fellow!" 

"  You  stay  where  you  are,"  commanded 
Mrs.  Waters.  "  I  don't  want  any  witnesses. 
I  don't  want  this  house  to  have  a  bad  name. 
I'm  going  to  keep  it  quiet." 

"Quiet?"  said  the  shaking  boatswain. 
"How?" 

"  First  thing  to  do,"  said  the  widow,  thought- 
fully, "  is  to  get  rid  of  the  body.  I'll  bury 
him  in  the  garden,  I  think.  There's  a  very 
good  bit  of  ground  behind  those  potatoes. 
You'll  find  the  spade  in  the  tool-house." 

The  horrified  Mr.  Benn  stood  stock-still 
regarding  her. 

"  While  you're  digging  the  grave,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Waters,  calmly,  "  I'll  go  in  and 
clean  up  the  mess." 

The  boatswain  reeled  and  then  fumbled 
with  trembling  fingers  at  his  collar. 

Like  a  man  in  a  dream  he  stood  watching  as 
58 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

she  ran  to  the  tool-house  and  returned  with  a 
spade  and  pick;  like  a  man  in  a  dream  he 
followed  her  on  to  the  garden. 

"Be  careful,"  she  said,  sharply;  "you're 
treading  down  my  potatoes." 

The  boatswain  stopped  dead  and  stared  at 
her.  Apparently  unconscious  of  his  gaze,  she 
began  to  pace  out  the  measurements  and 
then,  placing  the  tools  in  his  hands,  urged  him 
to  lose  no  time. 

"  I'll  bring  him  down  when  you're  gone," 
she  said,  looking  towards  the  house. 

The  boatswain  wiped  his  damp  brow  with 
the  back  of  his  hand.  "  How  are  you  going  to 
get  it  downstairs?  "  he  breathed. 

"  Drag  it,"  said  Mrs.  Waters,  briefly. 

"Suppose  he  isn't  dead?"  said  the  boat- 
swain, with  a  gleam  of  hope. 

"Fiddlesticks!"  said  Mrs.  Waters.  "Do 
you  think  I  don't  know?  Now,  don't  waste 
time  talking;  and  mind  you  dig  it  deep.  I'll 
put  a  few  cabbages  on  top  afterwards — I've 
got  more  than  I  want." 

She  re-entered  the  house  and  ran  lightly 
59 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

upstairs.  The  candle  was  still  alight  and  the 
gun  was  leaning  against  the  bed-post;  but  the 
visitor  had  disappeared.  Conscious  of  an  odd 
feeling  of  disappointment,  she  looked  round 
the  empty  room. 

"  Come  and  look  at  him,"  entreated  a  voice, 
and  she  turned  and  beheld  the  amused  coun- 
tenance of  her  late  prisoner  at  the  door. 

"  I've  been  watching  from  the  back  win- 
dow," he  said,  nodding.  "You're  a  wonder; 
that's  what  you  are.  Come  and  look  at 
him." 

Mrs.  Waters  followed,  and  leaning  out  of 
the  window  watched  with  simple  pleasure  the 
efforts  of  the  amateur  sexton.  Mr.  Benn  was 
digging  like  one  possessed,  only  pausing  at 
intervals  to  straighten  his  back  and  to  cast  a 
fearsome  glance  around  him.  The  only  thing 
that  marred  her  pleasure  was  the  behaviour  of 
Mr.  Travers,  who  was  struggling  for  a  place 
with  all  the  fervour  of  a  citizen  at  the  Lord 
Mayor's  show. 

"  Get  back,"  she  said,  in  a  fierce  whisper. 
*'  He'll  see  you." 

60 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

Mr.  Travers  with  obvious  reluctance  obeyed, 
just  as  the  victim  looked  up. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Waters?  "  inquired  the 
boatswain,  fearfully. 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  is,"  snapped  the  widow. 
"Who  else  should  it  be,  do  you  think?  Go 
on!     What  are  you  stopping  for?  " 

Mr.  Benn's  breathing  as  he  bent  to  his  task 
again  was  distinctly  audible.  The  head  of  Mr. 
Travers  ranged  itself  once  more  alongside  the 
widow's.  For  a  long  time  they  watched  in 
silence. 

"  Won't  you  come  down  here,  Mrs. 
Waters?"  called  the  boatswain,  looking  up  so 
suddenly  that  Mr.  Travers's  head  bumped 
painfully  against  the  side  of  the  window. 
"  It's  a  bit  creepy,  all  alone." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Waters. 

"  I  keep  fancying  there's  something  dodging 
behind  them  currant  bushes,"  pursued  the 
unfortunate  Mr.  Benn,  hoarsely.  "  How  you 
can  stay  there  alone  I  can't  think.  I  thought 
I  saw  something  looking  over  your  shoulder 
just  now.  Fancy  if  it  came  creeping  up 
behind  and  caught  hold  of  youl  ** 
6i 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

The  widow  gave  a  sudden  faint  scream. 

"  If  you  do  that  again "  she  said,  turn- 
ing fiercely  on  Mr.  Travers. 

"  He  put  it  into  my  head,"  said  the  culprit, 
humbly;  "  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing  by  myself.  I'm  one  of  the 
quietest  and  best-behaved " 

"  Make  haste,  Mr.  Benn,"  said  the  widow, 
turning  to  the  window  again;  "I've  got  a  lot 
to  do  when  you've  finished." 

The  boatswain  groaned  and  fell  to  digging 
again,  and  Mrs.  Waters,  after  watching  a  little 
while  longer,  gave  Mr.  Travers  some  pointed 
instructions  about  the  window  and  went  down 
to  the  garden  again. 

"  That  will  do,  I  think,"  she  said,  stepping 
into  the  hole  and  regarding  it  critically. 
"  Now  you'd  better  go  straight  off  home,  and, 
mind,  not  a  word  to  a  soul  about  this." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
noticing  with  pleasure  that  he  shuddered  at 
her  touch  led  the  way  to  the  gate.  The  boat- 
swain paused  for  a  moment,  as  though  about  to 
speak,  and  then,  apparently  thinking  better  of 

62 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

it,  bade  her  good-bye  in  a  hoarse  voice  and 
walked  feebly  up  the  road.  Mrs.  Waters  stood 
watching  until  his  steps  died  away  in  the 
distance,  and  then,  returning  to  the  garden, 
took  up  the  spade  and  stood  regarding  with 
some  dismay  the  mountainous  result  of  his 
industry.  Mr.  Travers,  who  was  standing 
just  inside  the  back  door,  joined  her. 

"  Let  me,"  he  said,  gallantly. 

The  day  was  breaking  as  he  finished  his 
task.  The  clean,  sweet  air  and  the  exercise 
had  given  him  an  appetite  to  which  the  smell 
of  cooking  bacon  and  hot  coffee  that  proceeded 
from  the  house  had  set  a  sharper  edge.  He 
took  his  coat  from  a  bush  and  put  it  on.  Mrs. 
Waters  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  You  had  better  come  in  and  have  some 
breakfast  before  you  go,"  she  said,  brusquely; 
"  there's  no  more  sleep  for  me  now." 

Mr.  Travers  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  after 
a  satisfying  wash  in  the  scullery  came  into  the 
big  kitchen  with  his  face  shining  and  took  a 
seat  at  the  table.  The  cloth  was  neatly  laid, 
and  Mrs.  Waters,  fresh  and  cool,  with  a  smile 
63 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

upon  her  pleasant  face,  sat  behind  the  tray. 
She  looked  at  her  guest  curiously,  Mr.  Travers's 
spirits  being  somewhat  higher  than  the  state 
of  his  wardrobe  appeared  to  justify. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  some  settled  work?  " 
she  inquired,  with  gentle  severity,  as  he  im- 
parted snatches  of  his  history  between  bites. 

"  Easier  said  than  done,"  said  Mr.  Travers, 
serenely.  "  But  don't  you  run  away  with  the 
idea  that  I'm  a  beggar,  because  I'm  not.  I 
pay  my  way,  such  as  it  is.  And,  by-the-bye, 
I  s'pose  I  haven't  earned  that  two  pounds 
Benn  gave  me?  " 

His  face  lengthened,  and  he  felt  uneasily  in 
his  pocket. 

"  I'll  give  them  to  him  when  I'm  tired  cf 
the  joke,"  said  the  widow,  holding  out  her 
hand  and  watching  him  closely. 

Mr.  Travers  passed  the  coins  over  to  her. 
"  Soft  hand  you've  got,"  he  said,  musingly. 
^'  I  don't  wonder  Benn  was  desperate.  I  dare 
say  I  should  have  done  the  same  in  his  place." 

Mrs.  Waters  bit  her  lip  and  looked  out  at  the 
window;  Mr.  Travers  resumed  his  breakfast. 

64 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"  There's  only  one  job  that  I'm  really  fit 
for,  now  that  I'm  too  old  for  the  Army,"  he 
said,  confidentially,  as,  breakfast  finished,  he 
stood  at  the  door  ready  to  depart. 

"  Playing  at  burglars? "  hazarded  Mrs. 
Waters. 

"  Landlord  of  a  little  country  public-house," 
said  Mr.  Travers,  simply. 

Mrs.  Waters  fell  back  and  regarded  him 
with  open-eyed  amazement. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she 
could  trust  her  voice. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  reluctantly. 
"  I  should  like  to  hear  how  old  Benn  takes  this 
joke,  though," 

Mrs.  Waters  retreated  into  the  house  and 
stood  regarding  him.  "  If  you're  passing  this 
way  again  and  like  to  look  in — I'll  tell  you," 
she  said,  after  a  long  pause.     "  Good-bye." 

"I'll  look  in  in  a  week's  time,"  said  Mr. 
Travers. 

He  took  the  proffered  hand  and  shook  it 
warmly.  "  It  would  be  the  best  joke  of  all," 
he  said,  turning  away. 

65 


The  Boatswain's  Mate 

"What  would?" 

The  soldier  confronted  her  again. 

"  For  old  Benn  to  come  round  here  one  even- 
ing and  find  me  landlord.    Think  it  over." 

Mrs.  Waters  met  his  gaze  soberly.  "  I'll 
think  it  over  when  you  have  gone,"  she  said, 
softly.    "  Now  go." 


66 


THE    NEST 
EGG 


The  Nest  Egg 

«  \  RTFULNESS,"  said  the  night-watch- 
■*-  ^  man,  smoking  placidly,  "  is  a  gift; 
but  it  don't  pay  always.  I've  met  some  art- 
ful ones  in  my  time — plenty  of  'em;  but  I 
can't  truthfully  say  as  'ow  any  of  them  was 
the  better  for  meeting  me." 

He  rose  slowly  from  the  packing-case  on 
which  he  had  been  sitting  and,  stamping  down 
the  point  of  a  rusty  nail  with  his  heel,  re- 
sumed his  seat,  remarking  that  he  had  endured 
it  for  some  time  under  the  impression  that  it 
was  only  a  splinter. 

"  I've  surprised  more  than  one  in  my 
time,"  he  continued,  slowly.  "  When  I  met 
one  of  these  'ere  artful  ones  I  used  fust  of 
all  to  pretend  to  be  more  stupid  than  wot  I 
really  am." 

He  stopped  and  stared  fixedly. 
69 


The  Nest  Egg 

*'  More  stupid  than  I  looked,"  he  said. 

He  stopped  again. 

"  More  stupid  than  wot  they  thought  I 
looked,"  he  said,  speaking  with  marked  de- 
liberation. And  I'd  let  'em  go  on  and  on 
until  I  thought  I  had  'ad  about  enough,  and 
then  turn  round  on  'em.  Nobody  ever  got  the 
better  o'  me  except  my  wife,  and  that  was 
only  before  we  was  married.  Two  nights 
arterwards  she  found  a  fish-hook  in  my  trouser- 
pocket,  and  arter  that  I  could  ha'  left  untold 
gold  there — if  I'd  ha'  had  it.  It  spoilt  wot 
some  people  call  the  honey-moon,  but  It  paid 
in  the  long  run. 

One  o'  the  worst  things  a  man  can  do  is  to 
take  up  artfulness  all  of  a  sudden.  I  never 
knew  it  to  answer  yet,  and  I  can  tell  you  of  a 
case  that'll  prove  my  words  true. 

It's  some  years  ago  now,  and  the  chap  it 
'appened  to  was  a  young  man,  a  shipmate  o' 
mine,  named  Charlie  Tagg.  Very  steady 
young  chap  he  was,  too  steady  for  most  of  'em. 
That's  'ow  it  was  me  and  'im  got  to  be  such 
pals. 

70 


The  Nest  Egg 

He'd  been  saving  up  for  years  to  get  married, 
and  all  the  advice  we  could  give  'im  didn't 
'ave  any  effect.  He  saved  up  nearly  every 
penny  of  'is  money  and  gave  it  to  his  gal  to 
keep  for  'im,  and  the  time  I'm  speaking  of  she'd 
got  seventy-two  pounds  of  'is  and  seventeen- 
and-six  of  'er  own  to  set  up  house-keeping 
with. 

Then  a  thing  happened  that  I've  known  to 
'appen  to  sailormen  afore.  At  Sydney  'e  got 
silly  on  another  gal,  and  started  walking  out 
with  her,  and  afore  he  knew  wot  he  was  about 
he'd  promised  to  marry  'er  too. 

Sydney  and  London  being  a  long  way  from 
each  other  was  in  'is  favour,  but  the  thing 
that  troubled  'im  was  'ow  to  get  that  seventy- 
two  pounds  out  of  Emma  Cook,  'is  London 
gal,  so  as  he  could  marry  the  other  with  it. 
It  worried  'im  all  the  way  home,  and  by  the 
time  we  got  into  the  London  river  'is  head 
was  all  in  a  maze  with  it.  Emma  Cook  'ad  got 
it  all  saved  up  in  the  bank,  to  take  a  little  shop 
with  when  they  got  spliced,  and  'ow  to  get  it 
he  could  not  think. 

71 


The  Nest  Egg 

He  went  straight  off  to  Poplar,  where  she 
lived,  as  soon  as  the  ship  was  berthed.  He 
walked  all  the  way  so  as  to  'ave  more  time  for 
thinking,  but  wot  with  bumping  into  two  old 
gentlemen  with  bad  tempers,  and  being  nearly 
run  over  by  a  cabman  with  a  white  'orse  and 
red  whiskers,  he  got  to  the  house  without 
'aving  thought  of  anything. 

They  was  just  finishing  their  tea  as  'e  got 
there,  and  they  all  seemed  so  pleased  to  see  'im 
that  it  made  it  worse  than  ever  for  'im.  Mrs. 
Cook,  who  'ad  pretty  near  finished,  gave  'im 
her  own  cup  to  drink  out  of,  and  said  that  she 
'ad  dreamt  of  'im  the  night  afore  last,  and  old 
Cook  said  that  he  'ad  got  so  good-looking  'e 
shouldn't  'ave  known  him. 

"  I  should  'ave  passed  'im  in  the  street,"  he 
ses.    "  I  never  see  such  an  alteration." 

"  They'll  be  a  nice-looking  couple,"  ses  his 
wife,  looking  at  a  young  chap,  named  George 
Smith,  that  'ad  been  sitting  next  to  Emma. 

Charlie  Tagg  filled  'is  mouth  with  bread 
and  butter,  and  wondered  'ow  he  was  to  begin. 
He  squeezed  Emma's  'and  just  for  the  sake  of 

^2 


The  Nest  Egg 

keeping  up  appearances,  and  all  the  time  'e 
was  thinking  of  the  other  gal  waiting  for  'im 
thousands  o'  miles  away. 

"  You've  come  'ome  just  in  the  nick  o* 
time,"  ses  old  Cook;  "if  you'd  done  it  o' 
purpose  you  couldn't  'ave  arranged  it  better." 

"  Somebody's  birthday? "  ses  Charlie,  try- 
ing to  smile. 

Old  Cook  shook  his  'ead.  "  Though  mine 
is  next  Wednesday,"  he  ses,  "  and  thank  you 
for  thinking  of  it.  No;  you're  just  in  time 
for  the  biggest  bargain  in  the  chandlery  lin« 
that  anybody  ever  'ad  a  chance  of.  If  you 
'adn't  ha'  come  back  we  should  have  'ad  to  ha' 
done  it  without  you." 

"  Eighty  pounds,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  smiling 
at  Charlie.  *'  With  the  money  Emma's  got 
saved  and  your  wages  this  trip  you'll  'ave 
plenty.  You  must  come  round  arter  tea  and 
'ave  a  look  at  it." 

"  Little  place  not  arf  a  mile  from  'ere,"  ses 
old   Cook.      "  Properly  worked   up,   the   way 
Emma'll  do  it,  it'll  be  a  little  fortune.     I  wish 
I'd  had  a  chance  like  it  In  my  young  time." 
73 


The  Nest  Egg 

He  sat  shaking  his  'ead  to  think  wot  he'd 
lost,  and  Charlie  Tagg  sat  staring  at  'im  and 
wondering  wot  he  was  to  do. 

"  My  idea  is  for  Charlie  to  go  for  a  few 
more  v'y'ges  arter  they're  married  while 
Emma  works  up  the  business,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook; 
"  she'll  be  all  right  with  young  Bill  and  Sarah 
Ann  to  'elp  her  and  keep  'er  company  while 
he's  away." 

*'  We'll  see  as  she  ain't  lonely,"  ses  George 
Smith,  turning  to  Charlie. 

Charlie  Tagg  gave  a  bit  of  a  cough  and  said 
It  wanted  considering.  He  said  it  was  no 
good  doing  things  in  a  'urry  and  then  repent- 
ing of  'em  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  And  'e 
said  he'd  been  given  to  understand  that 
chandlery  wasn't  wot  it  'ad  been,  and  some 
of  the  cleverest  people  'e  knew  thought  that 
It  would  be  worse  before  it  was  better.  By 
the  time  he'd  finished  they  was  all  looking  at 
'Im  as  though  they  couldn't  believe  their  ears. 

"  You  just  step  round  and  'ave  a  look  at  the 
place,"  ses  old  Cook;  "  If  that  don't  make  you 
alter  your  tune,  call  me  a  sinner." 

74 


The  Nest  Egg 

Charlie  Tagg  felt  as  though  'e  could  ha* 
called  'im  a  lot  o'  worse  things  than  that,  but 
he  took  up  'is  hat  and  Mrs.  Cook  and  Emma 
got  their  bonnets  on  and  they  went  round. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  it  for  eighty  pounds," 
ses  Charlie,  beginning  his  artfulness  as  they 
came  near  a  big  shop,  with  plate-glass  and  a 
double  front. 

"  Eh?  "  ses  old  Cook,  staring  at  'im.  "  Why, 
that  ain't  the  place.  Why,  you  wouldn't  get 
that  for  eight  'undred." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  much  of  it,"  ses 
Charlie;  "  if  it's  worse  than  that  I  can't  look 
at  It — I  can't,  indeed." 

"You  ain't  been  drinking,  Charlie?"  ses 
old  Cook,  in  a  puzzled  voice. 

"  Certainly  not,"  ses  Charlie. 

He  was  pleased  to  see  'ow  anxious  they  all 
looked,  and  when  they  did  come  to  the  shop 
'e  set  up  a  laugh  that  old  Cook  said  chilled  the 
marrer  in  'is  bones.  He  stood  looking  in  a 
'elpless  sort  o'  way  at  his  wife  and  Emma,  and 
then  at  last  he  ses,  "There  it  is;  and  a  fair 
bargain  at  the  price." 

75 


The  Nest  Egg 


"  I  s'pose  you  ain't  been  drinking? "  ses 
Charlie. 

"Wot's  the  matter  with  it?"  ses  Mrs. 
Cook  flaring  up. 

"  Come  inside  and  look  at  it,"  ses  Emma, 
taking  'old  of  his  arm. 

"  Not  me,"  ses  Charlie,  hanging  back. 
*'  Why,  I  wouldn't  take  it  at  a  gift." 

He  stood  there  on  the  kerbstone,  and  all 
they  could  do  'e  wouldn't  budge.  He  said  it 
was  a  bad  road  and  a  little  shop,  and  'ad  got 
a  look  about  it  he  didn't  like.  They  walked 
back  'ome  like  a  funeral  procession,  and  Emma 
'ad  to  keep  saying  "  H's!  "  in  w'ispers  to  'er 
mother  all  the  way. 

"  I  don't  know  wot  Charlie  does  want,  I'm 
sure,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  taking  off  'er  bonnet  as 
soon  as  she  got  indoors  and  pitching  it  on  the 
chair  he  was  just  going  to  set  down  on. 

"  It's  so  awk'ard,"  ses  old  Cook,  rubbing 
his  'ead.  "  Fact  is,  Charlie,  we  pretty  near 
gave  'em  to  understand  as  we'd  buy  it." 

"  It's  as  good  as  settled,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook, 
trembling  all  over  with  temper. 

76 


He  said  it  was  a  ba4  roacj  and  a  little  shop,  and  'ad  got  a  look  about  it  he 
didn't  like. 


The  Nest  Egg 

"  They  won't  settle  till  they  get  the  money," 
ses  Charlie.  "  You  may  make  your  mind 
easy  about  that." 

"  Emma's  drawn  it  all  out  of  the  bank 
ready,"  ses  old  Cook,  eager  like. 

Charlie  felt  'ot  and  cold  all  over.  "  I'd 
better  take  care  of  it,"  he  ses,  in  a  trembling 
voice.     "  You  might  be  robbed." 

"  So  might  you  be,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook.  "  Don't 
you  worry;  it's  in  a  safe  place." 

"  Sailormen  are  always  being  robbed,"  ses 
George  Smith,  who  'ad  been  helping  young 
Bill  with  'is  sums  while  they  'ad  gone  to  look 
at  the  shop.  "  There's  more  sailormen  robbed 
than  all  the  rest  put  together." 

*'  They  won't  rob  Charlie,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook, 
pressing  'er  lips  together.  "  I'll  take  care  o' 
that." 

Charlie  tried  to  laugh,  but  'e  made  such  a 
queer  noise  that  young  Bill  made  a  large  blot 
on  'is  exercise-book,  and  old  Cook,  wot  was 
lighting  his  pipe,  burnt  'is  fingers  through  not 
looking  wot  'e  was  doing. 

"  You  see,"  ses  Charlie,  "  if  I  was  robbed, 
77 


The  Nest  Egg 

which  ain't  at  all  likely,  it  'ud  only  be  me  los- 
ing my  own  money;  but  if  you  was  robbed 
of  it  you'd  never  forgive  yourselves." 

"  I  dessay  I  should  get  over  it,"  ses  Mrs. 
Cook,  sniffing.  "  I'd  'ave  a  try,  at  all 
events." 

Charlie  started  to  laugh  agin,  and  old  Cook, 
who  had  struck  another  match,  blew  it  out 
and  waited  till  he'd  finished. 

"  The  whole  truth  is,"  ses  Charlie,  looking 
round,  "  I've  got  something  better  to  do  with 
the  money.  I've  got  a  chance  offered  me 
that'll  make  me  able  to  double  it  afore  you 
know  where  you  are." 

"  Not  afore  I  know  where  I  am,"  ses  Mrs. 
Cook,  with  a  laugh  that  was  worse  than 
Charlie's. 

*'  The  chance  of  a  lifetime,"  ses  Charlie, 
trying  to  keep  'is  temper.  "  I  can't  tell  you  wot 
it  is,  because  I've  promised  to  keep  it  secret 
for  a  time.  You'll  be  surprised  when  I  do 
tell  you." 

"  If  I  wait  till  then  till  I'm  surprised,"  ses 
Mrs.  Cook,  "  I  shall  'ave  to  wait  a  long  time'. 
78 


The  Nest  Egg 

My  advice  to  you  Is  to  take  that  shop  and  ha' 
done  with  it." 

Charlie  sat  there  arguing  all  the  evening, 
but  it  was  no  good,  and  the  idea  o'  them 
people  sitting  there  and  refusing  to  let  'im 
have  his  own  money  pretty  near  sent  'im 
crazy.  It  was  all  'e  could  do  to  kiss  Emma 
good-night,  and  'e  couldn't  have  'elped  slam- 
ming the  front  door  if  he'd  been  paid  for  it. 
The  only  comfort  he  'ad  got  left  was  the 
Sydney  gal's  photygraph,  and  he  took  that 
out  and  looked  at  it  under  nearly  every  lamp- 
post he  passed. 

He  went  round  the  next  night  and  'ad  an- 
other try  to  get  'Is  money,  but  It  was  no  use; 
and  all  the  good  he  done  was  to  make  Mrs. 
Cook  in  such  a  temper  that  she  'ad  to  go  to 
bed  before  he  'ad  arf  finished.  It  was  no  good 
talking  to  old  Cook  and  Emma,  because  they 
daren't  do  anything  without  'er,  and  it  was 
no  good  calling  things  up  the  stairs  to  her 
because  she  didn't  answer.  Three  nights 
running  Mrs.  Cook  went  off  to  bed  afore  eight 
o'clock,  for  fear  she  should  say  something  to 
79 


The  Nest  Egg 

Mm  as  she'd  be  sorry  for  arterwards;  and  for 
three  nights  Charlie  made  'imself  so  disagree- 
able that  Emma  told  'im  plain  the  sooner  'e 
went  back  to  sea  agin  the  better  she  should 
like  it.  The  only  one  who  seemed  to 
enjoy  it  was  George  Smith,  and  'e  used  to 
bring  bits  out  o'  newspapers  and  read  to  'em, 
showing  'ow  silly  people  was  done  out  of  their 
money. 

On  the  fourth  night  Charlie  dropped  it  and 
made  'imself  so  amiable  that  Mrs.  Cook  stayed 
up  and  made  'im  a  Welsh  rare-bit  for  'is  supper, 
and  made  'im  drink  two  glasses  o'  beer  instead  o' 
one,  while  old  Cook  sat  and  drank  three  glasses 
o'  water  just  out  of  temper,  and  to  show  that  'e 
didn't  mind.  When  she  started  on  the  chand- 
ler's shop  agin  Charlie  said  he'd  think  it  over, 
and  when  'e  went  away  Mrs.  Cook  called  'im 
her  sailor-boy  and  wished  'im  pleasant  dreams. 

But  Charlie  Tagg  'ad  got  better  things  to 
do  than  to  dream,  and  'e  sat  up  in  bed  arf  the 
night  thinking  out  a  new  plan  he'd  thought 
of  to  get  that  money.  When  'e  did  fall  asleep 
at  last  'e  dreamt  of  taking  a  little  farm  in 
80 


The  Nest  Egg 

Australia  and  riding  about  on  'orseback  with 
the  Sydney  gal  watching  his  men  at  work. 

In  the  morning  he  went  and  hunted  up  a 
shipmate  of  'Is,  a  young  feller  named  Jack 
Bates.  Jack  was  one  o'  these  'ere  chaps,  no- 
body's enemy  but  their  own,  as  the  saying  Is; 
a  good-'arted,  free-'anded  chap  as  you  could 
wish  to  see.  Everybody  liked  'Im,  and  the 
ship's  cat  loved  'Im.  He'd  ha'  sold  the  shirt 
off  'is  back  to  oblige  a  pal,  and  three  times  in 
one  week  he  got  'Is  face  scratched  for  trying 
to  prevent  'usbands  knocking  their  wives 
about. 

Charlie  Tagg  went  to  'Im  because  he  was 
the  only  man  'e  could  trust,  and  for  over  arf 
an  hour  he  was  telling  Jack  Bates  all  'Is  troubles, 
and  at  last,  as  a  great  favour,  he  let  'Im  see  the 
Sydney  gal's  photygraph,  and  told  him  that 
all  that  pore  gal's  future  'appiness  depended 
upon  'im. 

"  I'll  step  round  to-night  and  rob  'em  of  that 
seventy-two  pounds,"  ses  Jack;  "it's  your 
money,  and  you've  a  right  to  it." 

Charlie  shook  his  'ead.  "  That  wouldn't 
8i 


The  Nest  Egg 

do,"  he  ses;  "besides,  I  don't  know  where 
they  keep  it.  No;  I've  got  a  better  plan  than 
that.  Come  round  to  the  Crooked  Billet,  so 
as  we  can  talk  it  over  in  peace  and  quiet." 

He  stood  Jack  three  or  four  arf-pints  afore 
'e  told  'im  his  plan,  and  Jack  was  so  pleased 
with  it  that  he  wanted  to  start  at  once,  but 
Charlie  persuaded  'im  to  wait. 

"  And  don't  you  spare  me,  mind,  out  o' 
friendship,"  ses  Charlie,  "  because  the  blacker 
you  paint  me  the  better  I  shall  like  it." 

"You  trust  me,  mate,"  ses  Jack  Bates;  "  if 
I  don't  get  that  seventy-two  pounds  for  you, 
you  may  call  me  a  Dutchman.  Why,  it's  fair 
robbery,  I  call  it,  sticking  to  your  money  like 
that." 

They  spent  the  rest  o'  the  day  together,  and 
when  evening  came  Charlie  went  off  to  the 
Cooks'.  Emma  'ad  arf  expected  they  was 
going  to  a  theayter  that  night,  but  Charlie 
said  he  wasn't  feeling  the  thing,  and  he  sat 
there  so  quiet  and  miserable  they  didn't  know 
wot  to  make  of  'im. 

"  'Ave  you  got  any  trouble  on  your  mind> 
82 


The  Nest  Egg 

Charlie,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  "  or  is  it  the  tooth- 
ache?" 

"  It  ain't  the  toothache,"  ses  Charlie. 

He  sat  there  pulling  a  long  face  and  staring  at 
the  floor,  but  all  Mrs.  Cook  and  Emma  could 
do  'e  wouldn't  tell  them  wot  was  the  matter 
with  'im.  He  said  'e  didn't  want  to  worry 
other  people  with  'is  troubles;  let  everybody 
bear  their  own,  that  was  'is  motto.  Even 
when  George  Smith  offered  to  go  to  the 
theayter  with  Emma  instead  of  'im  he  didn't 
fire  up,  and,  if  it  'adn't  ha'  been  for  Mrs.  Cook, 
George  wouldn't  ha'  been  sorry  that  'e  spoke. 

"  Theayters  ain't  for  me,"  ses  Charlie,  with 
a  groan.  "  I'm  more  likely  to  go  to  gaol,  so 
far  as  I  can  see,  than  a  theayter." 

Mrs.  Cook  and  Emma  both  screamed  and 
Sarah  Ann  did  'er  first  highstericks,  and  very 
well,  too,  considering  that  she  'ad  only  just 
turned  fifteen. 

"  Gaol !  "  ses  old  Cook,  as  soon  as  they  'ad 
quieted  Sarah  Ann  with  a  bowl  o'  cold  water 
that  young  Bill  'ad  the  presence  o'  mind  to 
go  and  fetch.    "  Gaol !    What  for?  " 
83 


The  Nest  Egg 

**  You  wouldn't  believe  if  I  was  to  tell  you." 
ses  Charlie,  getting  up  to  go,  "  and  besides,  I 
don't  want  any  of  you  to  think  as  'ow  I  am 
worse  than  wot  I  am." 

He  shook  his  'ead  at  them  sorrowful-like, 
and  afore  they  could  stop  'im  he  'ad  gone.  Old 
Cook  shouted  arter  'im,  but  it  was  no  use,  and 
the  others  was  running  into  the  scullery  to  fill 
the  bowl  agin  for  Emma. 

Mrs.  Cook  went  round  to  'is  lodgings  next 
morning,  but  found  that  'e  was  out.  They 
began  to  fancy  all  sorts  o'  things  then,  but 
Charlie  turned  up  agin  that  evening  more 
miserable  than  ever. 

"  I  went  round  to  see  you  this  morning," 
ses  Mrs.  Cook,  "  but  you  wasn't  at  'ome." 

"  I  never  am,  'ardly,"  ses  Charlie.  "  I  can't 
be — it  ain't  safe." 

"  Why  not?  "  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  fidgeting. 

"  If  I  was  to  tell  you,  you'd  lose  your  good 
opinion  of  me,"  ses  Charlie. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  much  to  lose,"  ses  Mrs. 
Cook,  firing  up. 

Charlie  didn't  answer  'er.  When  he  did 
84 


The  Nest  Egg 

speak  he  spoke  to  the  old  man,  and  he  was  so 
down-'arted  that  'e  gave  'im  the  chills  a'most. 
He  'ardly  took  any  notice  of  Emma,  and,  when 
Mrs.  Cook  spoke  about  the  shop  agin,  said 
that  chandlers'  shops  was  for  happy  people,  not 
for  'im. 

By  the  time  they  sat  down  to  supper  they 
was  nearly  all  as  miserable  as  Charlie  'imself. 
From  words  he  let  drop  they  all  seemed  to 
'ave  the  idea  that  the  police  was  arter  'im,  and 
Mrs.  Cook  was  just  asking  'im  for  wot  she 
called  the  third  and  last  time,  but  wot  was 
more  likely  the  hundred  and  third,  wot  he'd 
done,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  front 
door,  so  loud  and  so  sudden  that  old  Cook  and 
young  Bill  both  cut  their  mouths  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Anybody  'ere  o'  the  name  of  Emma 
Cook?  "  ses  a  man's  voice,  when  young  Bill 
opened  the  door. 

"  She's  inside,"  ses  the  boy,  and  the  next 
moment  Jack  Bates  followed  'im  into  the  room, 
and  then  fell  back  with  a  start  as  'e  saw  Charlie 
Tagg. 

85 


The  Nest  Egg 

"  Ho,  'ere  you  are,  are  you?  "  he  ses,  look- 
ing at  'im  very  black. 

"  Wot's  the  matter?"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  very 
sharp. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  'ave  the  pleasure  o'  see- 
ing you  'ere,  my  lad,"  ses  Jack,  still  staring  at 
Charlie,  and  twisting  'is  face  up  into  awful 
scowls.     "  Which  is  Emma  Cook?  " 

"  Miss  Cook  is  my  name,"  ses  Emma,  very 
sharp.     "  Wot  d'ye  want?  " 

"  Very  good,"  ses  Jack  Bates,  looking  at 
Charlie  agin;  "then  p'r'aps  you'll  do  me  the 
kindness  of  telling  that  lie  o'  yours  agin  afore 
this  young  lady." 

"  It's  the  truth,"  ses  Charlie,  looking  down 
at  'is  plate. 

"  If  somebody  don't  tell  me  wot  all  this  is 
about  in  two  minutes,  I  shall  do  something 
desprit,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  getting  up. 

"  This  'ere — er — man,"  ses  Jack  Bates,  point- 
ing at  Charlie,  "  owes  me  seventy-five  pounds 
and  won't  pay.  When  I  ask  'im  for  it  he  ses 
a  party  he's  keeping  company  with,  by  the  name 
of  Emma  Cook,  'as  got  it,  and  he  can't  get  it." 
86 


The  Nest  Egg 

"  So  she  has,"  ses  Charlie,  without  looking 
up. 

"  Wot  does  'e  owe  you  the  money  for?  " 
ses  Mrs.  Cook. 

"  'Cos  I  lent  it  to  'im,"  ses  Jack. 

"Lent  it?    What  for?"  ses  Mrs.  Cook. 

"  'Cos  I  was  a  fool,  I  s'pose,"  ses  Jack  Bates; 
*'  a  good-natured  fool.  Anyway,  I'm  sick 
and  tired  of  asking  for  it,  and  if  I  don't  get  it 
to-night  I'm  going  to  see  the  police  about  it." 

He  sat  down  on  a  chair  with  'is  hat  cocked 
over  one  eye,  and  they  all  sat  staring  at  'im  as 
though  they  didn't  know  wot  to  say  next. 

"  So  this  is  wot  you  meant  when  you  said 
you'd  got  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,  is  it?  "  ses 
Mrs.  Cook  to  Charlie.  "  This  is  wot  you 
wanted  it  for,  is  it?  Wot  did  you  borrow  all 
that  money  for?  " 

"  Spend,"  ses  Charlie,  in  a  sulky  voice. 

"Spend!"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  with  a  scream; 
''wot  in?" 

"  Drink  and  cards  mostly,"  ses  Jack  Bates, 
remembering  wot  Charlie  'ad  told  'im  about 
blackening  'is  character. 
87 


The  Nest  Egg 

You  might  ha'  heard  a  pin  drop  a'most, 
and  Charlie  sat  there  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Charlie's  been  led  away,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook, 
looking  'ard  at  Jack  Bates.  "  I  s'pose  you  lent 
Mm  the  money  to  win  it  back  from  'im  at  cards, 
didn't  you?" 

"  And  gave  'im  too  much  licker  fust,"  ses 
old  Cook.  "  I've  'card  of  your  kind.  If 
Charlie  takes  my  advice  'e  won't  pay  you  a 
farthing.  I  should  let  you  do  your  worst  if  I 
was  'im;  that's  wot  I  should  do.  You've  got 
a  low  face;  a  nasty,  ugly,  low  face." 

"  One  o'  the  worst  I  ever  see,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook. 
"  It  looks  as  though  it  might  ha'  been  cut  out 
o'  the  Police  News" 

"  'Owever  could  you  ha'  trusted  a  man  with 
a  face  like  that,  Charlie?"  ses  old  Cook. 
*'  Come  away  from  'im,  Bill;  I  don't  like  such 
a  chap  in  the  room." 

Jack  Bates  began  to  feel  very  awk'ard.  They 
was  all  glaring  at  'im  as  though  they  could  eat 
'im,  and  he  wasn't  used  to  such  treatment. 
And,  as  a  matter  o'  fact,  he'd  got  a  very  good- 
*arted  face. 


The  Nest  Egg 

"  You  go  out  o'  that  door,"  ses  old  Cook, 
pointing  to  it.  "  Go  and  do  your  worst.  You 
won't  get  any  money  'ere." 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  ses  Emma,  and  afore  they 
could  stop  'er  she  ran  upstairs.  Mrs.  Cook 
went  arter  'er  and  'igh  words  was  heard  up 
in  the  bedroom,  but  by-and-by  Emma  came 
down  holding  her  head  very  'igh  and  looking 
at  Jack  Bates  as  though  he  was  dirt. 

"  How  am  I  to  know  Charlie  owes  you  this 
money?  "  she  ses. 

Jack  Bates  turned  very  red,  and  arter 
fumbling  in  'is  pockets  took  out  about  a  dozen 
dirty  bits  o'  paper,  which  Charlie  'ad  given 
'im  for  I  O  U's.  Emma  read  'em  all,  and 
then  she  threw  a  little  parcel  on  the  table. 

"There's  your  money,"  she  ses;  "take  it 
and  go." 

Mrs.  Cook  and  'er  father  began  to  call  out, 
but  it  was  no  good. 

"  There's    seventy-two    pounds    there,"    ses 

Emma,  who  was  very  pale ;  "  and  'ere's  a  ring 

you  can  have  to  'elp  make  up  the  rest."    And 

she  drew  Charlie's  ring  off  and  throwed  it  on 

89 


The  Nest  Egg 

the  table.  "  I've  done  with  'im  for  good," 
she  ses,  with  a  look  at  'er  mother. 

Jack  Bates  took  up  the  money  and  the  ring 
and  stood  there  looking  at  'er  and  trying  to 
think  wot  to  say.  He'd  always  been  uncommon 
partial  to  the  sex,  and  it  did  seem  'ard  to  stand 
there  and  take  all  that  on  account  of  Charlie 
Tagg. 

"  I  only  wanted  my  own,"  he  ses,  at  last, 
shuffling  about  the  floor. 

"  Well,  you've  got  it,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  "  and 
now  you  can  go." 

"  You're  pi'soning  the  air  of  my  front 
parlour,"  ses  old  Cook,  opening  the  winder  a 
little  at  the  top. 

"  P'r'aps  I  ain't  so  bad  as  you  think  I  am," 
ses  Jack  Bates,  still  looking  at  Emma,  and  with 
that  'e  walked  over  to  Charlie  and  dumped 
down  the  money  on  the  table  in  front  of 
'im.  "  Take  it,"  he  ses,  "  and  don't  bor- 
row any  more.  I  make  you  a  free  gift  of  it. 
P'r'aps  my  'art  ain't  as  black  as  my  face,"  he 
ses,  turning  to  Mrs.  Cook. 

They  was  all  so  surprised  at  fust  that  they 
90 


The  Nest  Egg 


couldn't  speak,  but  old  Cook  smiled  at  'im  and 
put  the  winder  up  agin.  And  Charlie  Tagg 
sat  there  arf  mad  with  temper,  locking  as 
though  'e  could  eat  Jack  Bates  without  any 
salt,  as  the  saying  is. 

"  I — I  can't  take  it,"  he  ses  at  last,  with  a 
stammer. 

"  Can't  take  it?  Why  not?  "  ses  old  Cook, 
staring.     "  This  gentleman  'as  given  it  to  you." 

"A  free  gift,"  ses  Mrs.  Cook,  smiling  at  Jack 
very  sweet. 

"  I  can't  take  it,"  ses  Charlie,  winking  at 
Jack  to  take  the  money  up  and  give  It  to  'im 
outside  on  the  quiet,  as  arranged.  "  I  'ave 
my  pride." 

"  So  'ave  I,"  ses  Jack.  "  Are  you  going  to 
take  it?" 

Charlie  gave  'im  another  look.  "  No,"  he 
ses,  "  I  can't  take  a  favour.  I  borrowed  the 
money  and  I'll  pay  it  back." 

"  Very  good,"  ses  Jack,  taking  it  up.  "  It's 
my  money,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  ses  Charlie,  taking  no  notice  of  Mrs. 
Cook  and  'cr  husband,  wot  was  both  talking 
91 


The  Nest  Egg 


to  Mm  at  once,  and  trying  to  persuade  'im  to 
alter  his  mind. 

"  Then  I  give  it  to  Miss  Emma  Cook,"  ses 
Jack  Bates,  putting  it  into  her  hands.  "  Good- 
night everybody  and  good  luck." 

He  slammed  the  front  door  behind  'im  and 
they  'eard  'im  go  off  down  the  road  as  if  'e 
was  going  for  fire-engines.  Charlie  sat  there 
for  a  moment  struck  all  of  a  heap,  and 
then  'e  jumped  up  and  dashed  arter  'im.  He 
just  saw  'im  disappearing  round  a  corner,  and 
he  didn't  see  'im  agin  for  a  couple  o'  year  arter- 
wards,  by  which  time  the  Sydney  gal  had  'ad 
three  or  four  young  men  arter  'im,  and  Emma, 
who  'ad  changed  her  name  to  Smith,  was  doing 
one  o'  the  best  businesses  in  the  chandlery 
line  in  Poplar. 


92 


THE    CONSTABLE'S 
MOVE 


The  Constable's  Move 

MR.  BOB  GRUMMIT  sat  in  the  kitchen 
with  his  corduroy-clad  legs  stretched 
on  the  fender.  His  wife's  half-eaten  dinner 
was  getting  cold  on  the  table;  Mr.  Grummit, 
who  was  badly  in  need  of  cheering  up,  emptied 
her  half-empty  glass  of  beer  and  wiped  his  lips 
with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  Come  away,  I  tell  you,"  he  called.  "  D'ye 
hear?  Come  away.  You'll  be  locked  up  if 
you  don't." 

He  gave  a  little  laugh  at  the  sarcasm,  and 
sticking  his  short  pipe  in  his  mouth  lurched 
slowly  to  the  front-room  door  and  scowled 
at  his  wife  as  she  lurked  at  the  back  of  the 
window  watching  intently  the  furniture  which 
was  being  carried  in  next  door. 

"  Come  away  or  else  you'll  be  locked  up," 
repeated  Mr.  Grummit.     "  You  mustn't  look 
at  policemen's  furniture ;  it's  agin  the  law." 
95 


The  Constable's  Move 

Mrs.  Grummit  made  no  reply,  but,  throwing 
appearances  to  the  winds,  stepped  to  the  window 
until  her  nose  touched,  as  a  walnut  sideboard 
with  bevelled  glass  back  was  tenderly  borne 
inside  under  the  personal  supervision  of  Police- 
Constable  Evans. 

"  They'll  be  'aving  a  pianner  next,"  said  the 
indignant  Mr.  Grummit,  peering  from  the 
depths  of  the  room. 

"They've  got  one,"  responded  his  wife; 
"  there's  the  end  if  it  stickin'  up  in  the  van." 

Mr.  Grummit  advanced  and  regarded  the 
end  fixedly.  "  Did  you  throw  all  them  tin 
cans  and  things  into  their  yard  wot  I  told  you 
to?  "  he  demanded. 

"  He  picked  up  three  of  'em  while  I  was 
upstairs,"  replied  his  wife.  "  I  'eard  'im  tell 
her  that  they'd  come  in  handy  for  paint  and 
things." 

"  That's  'ow  coppers  get  on  and  buy  plan- 
ners," said  the  incensed  Mr.  Grummit,  "  sneak- 
ing other  people's  property.  I  didn't  tell  you  to 
throw  good  'uns  over,  did  I?  Wot  d'ye  mean 
by  it?  " 

96 


The  Constable's  Move 

Mrs.  Grummit  made  no  reply,  but  watched 
with  bated  breath  the  triumphal  entrance  of 
the  piano.  The  carman  set  it  tenderly  on  the 
narrow  footpath,  while  P.  C.  Evans,  stooping 
low,  examined  it  at  all  points,  and  Mrs.  Evans, 
raising  the  lid,  struck  a  few  careless  chords. 

"  Showing  off,"  explained  Mrs.  Grummit, 
with  a  half  turn;  "and  she's  got  fingers  like 
carrots." 

"  It's  a  disgrace  to  Mulberry  Gardens  to  'ave 
a  copper  come  and  live  in  it,"  said  the  indignant 
Grummit;  "  and  to  come  and  live  next  to  me  I 
— that's  what  I  can't  get  over.  To  come  and 
live  next  door  to  a  man  wot  has  been  fined 
twice,  and  both  times  wrong.  Why,  for  two 
pins  I'd  go  in  and  smash  'is  pianner  first  and 
'im  after  it.  He  won't  live  'ere  long,  you  take 
my  word  for  it." 

"  Why  not?  "  inquired  his  wife. 

"  Why?  "  repeated  Mr.  Grummit.  "  Why? 
Why,  becos  I'll  make  the  place  too  'ot  to  hold 
him.  Ain't  there  enough  houses  in  Tunwich 
without  'im  a-coming  and  living  next  door  to 
me?" 

97i 


The  Constable's  Move 

For  a  whole  week  the  brain  concealed  in  Mr. 
Grummit's  bullet-shaped  head  worked  in  vain, 
and  his  temper  got  correspondingly  bad.  The 
day  after  the  Evans'  arrival  he  had  found  his 
yard  littered  with  tins  which  he  recognized  as 
old  acquaintances,  and  since  that  time  they 
had  travelled  backwards  and  forwards  with 
monotonous  regularity.  They  sometimes  made 
as  many  as  three  journeys  a  day,  and  on  one 
occasion  the  heavens  opened  to  drop  a  battered 
tin  bucket  on  the  back  of  Mr.  Grummit  as  he 
was  tying  his  bootlace.  Five  minutes  later 
he  spoke  of  the  outrage  to  Mr.  Evans,  who  had 
come  out  to  admire  the  sunset. 

"  I  heard  something  fall,"  said  the  constable, 
eyeing  the  pail  curiously. 

"  You  threw  it,"  said  Mr.  Grummit,  breath- 
ing furiously. 

"  Me?  Nonsense,"  said  the  other,  easily. 
"  I  was  having  tea  in  the  parlour  with  my  wife 
and  my  mother-in-law,  and  my  brother  Joe 
and  his  young  lady." 

"  Any  more  of  'em?  "  demanded  the  hapless 
Mr.  Grummit,  aghast  at  this  list  of  witnesses 
for  an  alibi.  ^ 


The  Constable's  Move 

**  It  ain't  a  bad  pail,  if  you  look  at  it  prop- 
erly," said  the  constable.  "  I  should  keep  it  if  I 
was  you ;  unless  the  owner  offers  a  reward  for  it. 
It'll  hold  enough  water  for  your  wants." 

Mr.  Grummit  flung  indoors  and,  after  wast- 
ing some  time  concocting  impossible  measures  of 
retaliation  with  his  sympathetic  partner,  went 
off  to  discuss  affairs  with  his  intimates  at  the 
Bricklayers'  Arms.  The  company,  although 
unanimously  agreeing  that  Mr.  Evans  ought 
to  be  boiled,  were  miserably  deficient  in  ideas 
as  to  the  means  by  which  such  a  desirable  end 
was  to  be  attained. 

"  Make  'im  a  laughing-stock,  that's  the  best 
thing,"  said  an  elderly  labourer.  "  The  police 
don't  like  being  laughed  at." 

"'Ow?"  demanded  Mr.  Grummit,  with 
some  asperity. 

"  There's  plenty  o*  ways,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I  should  find  'em  out  fast  enough  if  I 
'ad  a  bucket  dropped  on  my  back,  I  know." 

Mr.  Grummit  made  a  retort  the  feebleness 
of  which  was  somewhat  balanced  by  its  ferocity, 
and  subsided  into  glum  silence.  His  back  still 
99 


The  Constable's  Move 

ached,  but,  despite  that  aid  to  intellectual  effort, 
the  only  ways  he  could  imagine  of  making  the 
constable  look  foolish  contained  an  almost 
certain  risk  of  hard  labour  for  himself. 

He  pondered  the  question  for  a  week,  and 
meanwhile  the  tins — to  the  secret  disappoint- 
ment of  Mr.  Evans — remained  untouched  in 
his  yard.  For  the  whole  of  the  time  he  went 
about  looking,  as  Mrs.  Grummit  expressed  it, 
as  though  his  dinner  had  disagreed  with 
him. 

"  I've  been  talking  to  old  Bill  Smith,"  he 
said,  suddenly,  as  he  came  in  one  night. 

Mrs.  Grummit  looked  up,  and  noticed  with 
wifely  pleasure  that  he  was  looking  almost 
cheerful. 

"  He's  given  me  a  tip,"  said  Mr.  Grummit, 
with  a  faint  smile;  "a  copper  mustn't  come 
into  a  free-bom  Englishman's  'ouse  unless  he's 
invited.'* 

"Wot  of  it?"  inquired  his  wife.  "You 
wasn't  think  of  asking  him  in,  was  you?  "    . 

Mr.  Grummit  regarded  her  almost  play- 
fully. "  If  a  copper  comes  in  without  being 
loo 


The  Constable's  Move 

told  to,"  he  continued,  "  he  gets  into  trouble 
for  it.    Now  d'ye  see?" 

"  But  he  won't  come,"  said  the  puzzled  Mrs. 
Grummit. 

Mr.  Grummit  winked.  "  Yes  'e  will  if  you 
scream  loud  enough,"  he  retorted.  "  Where's 
the  copper-stick  ?  " 

"  Have  you  gone  mad? "  demanded  his 
wife,  **  or  do  you  think  I  'ave?  " 

"  You  go  up  into  the  bedroom,"  said  Mr. 
Grummit,  emphasizing  his  remarks  with  his 
forefinger.  "  I  come  up  and  beat  the  bed  black 
and  blue  with  the  copper-stick;  you  scream 
for  mercy  and  call  out  '  Help !  '  '  Murder !  ' 
and  things  like  that.  Don't  call  out  '  Police ! ' 
cos  Bill  ain't  sure  about  that  part.  Evans  comes 
bursting  in  to  save  your  life — I'll  leave  the  door 
on  the  latch — and  there  you  are.  He's  sure 
to  get  into  trouble  for  it.  Bill  said  so.  He's 
made  a  study  o'  that  sort  o'  thing." 

Mrs.  Grummit  pondered  this  simple  plan  so 
long  that  her  husband  began  to  lose  patience. 
At  last,  against  her  better  sense,  she  rose 
and  fetched  the  weapon  in  question. 

lOI 


The  Constable's  Move 

"  And  you  be  careful  what  you're  hitting," 
she  said,  as  they  went  upstairs  to  bed.  "  We'd 
better  have  'igh  words  first,  I  s'pose?  " 

"  You  pitch  into  me  with  your  tongue," 
said  Mr.  Grummit,  amiably. 

Mrs.  Grummit,  first  listening  to  make  sure 
that  the  constable  and  his  wife  were  in  the 
bedroom  the  other  side  of  the  flimsy  wall, 
complied,  and  in  a  voice  that  rose  gradually  to 
a  piercing  falsetto  told  Mr.  Grummit  things 
that  had  been  rankling  in  her  mind  for  some 
months.  She  raked  up  misdemeanours  that  he 
had  long  since  forgotten,  and,  not  content  with 
that,  had  a  fling  at  the  entire  Grummit  family, 
beginning  with  her  mother-in-law  and  ending 
with  Mr.  Grummit's  youngest  sister.  The 
hand  that  held  the  copper-stick  itched. 

"  Any  more  to  say?  "  demanded  Mr.  Grum- 
mit advancing  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Grummit  emitted  a  genuine  shriek, 
and  Mr.  Grummit,  suddenly  remembering 
himself,  stopped  short  and  attacked  the  bed 
with  extraordinary  fury.  The  room  resounded 
with  the  blows,  and  the  efforts  of  Mrs.  Grum- 

102 


Mr.  Grummit,  suddenly  remembering  himself,  stopped  short  and  attacked 
the  bed  with  extraordinary  fury. 


The  Constable's  Move 

mlt  were  a  revelation  even  to  her  hus- 
band. 

"  I  can  hear  'im  moving,"  whispered  Mr. 
Grummit,  pausing  to  take  breath. 

'' Mur — der\''  wailed  his  wife.  '' Helpl 
Help]'' 

Mr.  Grummit,  changing  the  stick  into  his 
left  hand,  renewed  the  attack;  Mrs.  Grummit, 
whose  voice  was  becoming  exhausted,  sought 
a  temporary  relief  in  moans. 

"Is — he — deaf?"  panted  the  wife-beater, 
"or  wot?" 

He  knocked  over  a  chair,  and  Mrs.  Grummit 
contrived  another  frenzied  scream.  A  loud 
knocking  sounded  on  the  wall. 

^^  Hel — //>.^  "  moaned  Mrs.  Grummit. 

"  Halloa,  there !  "  came  the  voice  of  the 
constable.  "  Why  don't  you  keep  that  baby 
quiet?    We  can't  get  a  wink  of  sleep." 

Mr.  Grummit  dropped  the  stick  on  the  bed 
and  turned  a  dazed  face  to  his  wife. 

"  He — he's  afraid — to  come  in,"  he  gasped. 
"  Keep  it  up,  old  gal." 

He  took  up  the  stick  again  and  Mrs.  Grummit 
103 


The  Constable's  Move 

did  her  best,  but  the  heart  had  gone  out  of  th( 
thing,  and  he  was  about  to  give  up  the  task  as 
hopeless  when  the  door  below  was  heard  to 
open  with  a  bang. 

"  Here  he  is,"  cried  the  jubilant  Grummit. 
"Now!" 

His  wife  responded,  and  at  the  same  moment 
the  bedroom  door  was  flung  open,  and  her 
brother,  who  had  been  hastily  fetched  by  the 
neighbours  on  the  other  side,  burst  into  the 
room  and  with  one  hearty  blow  sent  Mr. 
Grummit  sprawling. 

"Hit  my  sister,  will  you?"  he  roared,  as 
the  astounded  Mr.  Grummit  rose.  "  Take 
that!" 

Mr.  Grummit  took  it,  and  several  other 
favours,  while  his  wife,  tugging  at  her  brother, 
endeavoured  to  explain.  It  was  not,  however, 
until  Mr.  Grummit  claimed  the  usual  sanctuary 
of  the  defeated  by  refusing  to  rise  that  she  could 
make  herself  heard. 

"Joke?"  repeated  her  brother,  incredu- 
lously.    "Joke?" 

Mrs.  Grummit  in  a  husky  voice  explained. 
104 


The  Constable's  Move 

Her  brother  passed  from  Incredulity  to  amaze- 
ment and  from  amazement  to  mirth.  He  sat 
down  gurgling,  and  the  Indignant  face  of  the 
injured  Grummit  only  added  to  his  distress. 

"  Best  joke  I  ever  heard  in  my  life,"  he  said, 
wiping  his  eyes.  "  Don't  look  at  me  like  that, 
Bob ;  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Get  off  'ome,"  responded  Mr.  Grummit, 
glowering  at  him. 

"  There's  a  crowd  outside,  and  half  the  doors 
in  the  place  open,"  said  the  other.  "  Well, 
it's  a  good  job  there's  no  harm  done.    So  long." 

He  passed,  beaming,  down  the  stairs,  and 
Mr.  Grummit,  drawing  near  the  window, 
heard  him  explaining  In  a  broken  voice  to  the 
neighbours  outside.  Strong  men  patted  him 
on  the  back  and  urged  him  gruffly  to  say  what 
he  had  to  say  and  laugh  afterwards.  Mr. 
Grummit  turned  from  the  window,  and  in 
a  slow  and  stately  fashion  prepared  to  retire 
for  the  night.  Even  the  sudden  and  startling 
disappearance  of  Mrs.  Grummit  as  she  got 
into  bed  failed  to  move  him. 

"  The  bed's  broke.  Bob,"  she  said  faintly. 
105 


The  Constable's  Move 

"  Beds  won't  last  for  ever,"  he  said,  shortly; 
*'  sleep  on  the  floor." 

Mrs.  Grummit  clambered  out,  and  after 
some  trouble  secured  the  bedclothes  and  made 
up  a  bed  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  In  a  short 
time  she  was  fast  asleep ;  but  her  husband,  broad 
awake,  spent  the  night  in  devising  further  im- 
practicable schemes  for  the  discomfiture  of  the 
foe  next  door. 

He  saw  Mr.  Evans  next  morning  as  he  passed 
on  his  way  to  work.  The  constable  was  at  the 
door  smoking  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  Mr. 
Grummit  felt  instinctively  that  he  was  waiting 
there  to  see  him  pass. 

"  I  heard  you  last  night,"  said  the  constable, 
playfully.    "  My  word!    Good  gracious!  " 

"  Wot's  the  matter  with  you?"  demanded 
Mr.  Grummit,  stopping  short. 

The  constable  stared  at  him.  "  She  has 
been  knocking  you  about,"  he  gasped.  "  Why, 
it  must  ha'  been  you  screaming,  then !  I  thought 
it  sounded  loud.  Why  don't  you  go  and  get 
a  summons  and  have  her  locked  up?  I  should 
be  pleased  to  take  her." 
io6 


The  Constable's  Move 

Mr.  Grummit  faced  him,  quivering  with 
passion.  "  Wot  would  it  cost  if  I  set  about 
you?  "  he  demanded,  huskily. 

"  Two  months,"  said  Mr.  Evans,  smiling 
serenely;  "  p'r'aps  three." 

Mr.  Grummit  hesitated  and  his  fists  clenched 
nervously.  The  constable,  lounging  against 
his  door-post,  surveyed  him  with  a  dispassionate 
smile.  "  That  would  be  besides  what  you'd 
get  from  me,"  he  said,  softly. 

"  Come  out  in  the  road,"  said  Mr.  Grummit, 
with  sudden  violence. 

"It's  agin  the  rules,"  said  Mr.  Evans; 
"  sorry  I  can't.  Why  not  go  and  ask  your 
wife's  brother  to  oblige  you  ?  " 

He  went  in  laughing  and  closed  the  door, 
and  Mr.  Grummit,  after  a  frenzied  outburst, 
proceeded  on  his  way,  returning  the  smiles  of 
such  acquaintances  as  he  passed  with  an  icy 
stare  or  a  strongly-worded  offer  to  make  them 
laugh  the  other  side  of  their  face.  The  rest 
of  the  day  he  spent  in  working  so  hard  that  he 
had  no  time  to  reply  to  the  anxious  inquiries 
of  his  fellow-workmen. 

107 


The  Constable's  Move 

He  came  home  at  night  glum  and  silent,  the 
hardship  of  not  being  able  to  give  Mr.  Evans 
his  deserts  without  incurring  hard  labour 
having  weighed  on  his  spirits  all  day.  To 
avoid  the  annoyance  of  the  piano  next  door, 
which  was  slowly  and  reluctantly  yielding  up 
"  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer  "  note  by  note, 
he  went  out  at  the  back,  and  the  first  thing  he 
saw  was  Mr.  Evans  mending  his  path  with  tins 
and  other  bric-a-brac. 

"  Nothing  like  it,"  said  the  constable,  look- 
ing up.  "  Your  missus  gave  'em  to  us  this 
morning.  A  little  gravel  on  top,  and  there  you 
are. 

He  turned  whistling  to  his  work  again,  and 
the  other,  after  endeavouring  in  vain  to  frame 
a  suitable  reply,  took  a  seat  on  an  inverted 
wash-tub  and  lit  his  pipe.  His  one  hope  was 
that  Constable  Evans  was  going  to  try  and 
cultivate  a  garden. 

The  hope  was  realized  a  few  days  later,  and 

Mr.  Grummit  at  the  back  window  sat  gloating 

over   a    dozen   fine   geraniums,    some    lobelias 

and  calceolarias,  which  decorated  the  constable's 

io8 


The  Constable's  Move 

plot  ^f  ground.     He  could  not  sleep  for  think- 
ing of  them. 

He  rose  early  the  next  morning,  and,  after 
remarking  to  Mrs.  Grummit  that  Mr.  Evans's 
flowers  looked  as  though  they  wanted  rain, 
went  off  to  his  work.  The  cloud  which  had 
been  on  his  spirits  for  some  time  had  lifted, 
and  he  whistled  as  he  walked.  The  sight  of 
flowers  in  front  windows  added  to  his  good 
humour. 

He  was  still  In  good  spirits  when  he  left  off 
work  that  afternoon,  but  some  slight  hesitation 
about  returning  home  sent  him  to  the  Brick- 
layers' Arms  instead.  He  stayed  there  until 
closing  time,  and  then,  being  still  disinclined 
for  home,  paid  a  visit  to  Bill  Smith,  who  lived 
the  other  side  of  Tunwich.  By  the  time  he 
started  for  home  it  was  nearly  midnight. 

The  outskirts  of  the  town  were  deserted  and 
the  houses  in  darkness.  The  clock  of  Tunwich 
church  struck  twelve,  and  the  last  stroke  was 
just  dying  away  as  he  turned  a  corner  and  ran 
almost  into  the  arms  of  the  man  he  had  been 
trying  to  avoid. 

109 


The  Constable's  Move 

"  Halloa !  "  said  Constable  Evans,  sharply. 
"  Here,  I  want  a  word  with  you." 

Mr.  Grummit  quailed.  "With  me,  sir?" 
he  said,  with  involuntary  respect. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  flowers?  " 
demanded  the  other,  hotly. 

"Flowers?"  repeated  Mr.  Grummit,  as 
though  the  word  were  new  to  him.  "  Flowers? 
What  flowers?  " 

"  You  know  well  enough,"  retorted  the 
constable.  "  You  got  over  my  fence  last  night 
and  smashed  all  my  flowers  down." 

"  You  be  careful  wot  you're  saying,"  urged 
Mr.  Grummit.  "  Why,  I  love  flowers.  You 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  all  them  beautiful 
flowers  wot  you  put  in  so  careful  'as  been 
spoiled?  " 

"  You  know  all  about  it,"  said  the  constable, 
choking.  "  I  shall  take  out  a  summons  against 
you  for  it." 

"  Ho !  "  said  Mr.  Grummit.  "  And  wot 
time  do  you  say  it  was  when  I  done  it?  " 

"  Never  you  mind  the  time,"  said  the  other. 
"  Cos  it's  important,"   said   Mr.   Grummit. 
no 


The  Constable's  Move 

"  My  wife's  brother — the  one  you're  so  fond 
of — slept  in  my  'ouse  last  night.  He  was  ill 
arf  the  night,  pore  chap;  but,  come  to  think 
of  it,  it'll  make  'im  a  good  witness  for  my 
innocence." 

"  If  I  wasn't  a  policeman,"  said  Mr.  Evans, 
speaking  with  great  deliberation,  "  I'd  take 
hold  o'  you,  Bob  Grummit,  and  I'd  give  you 
the  biggest  hiding  you've  ever  had  in  your  life." 

"  If  you  wasn't  a  policeman,"  said  Mr. 
Grummit,  yearningly,   "  I'd  arf  murder  you." 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  wistfully, 
loth  to  part. 

"  If  I  gave  you  what  you  deserve  I  should 
get  into  trouble,"  said  the  constable. 

"  If  I  gave  you  a  quarter  of  wot  you  ought 
to  'ave  I  should  go  to  quod,"  sighed  Mr.  Grum- 
mit. 

"  I  wouldn't  put  you  there,"  said  the  con- 
stable, earnestly;  "  I  swear  I  wouldn't." 

"  Everything's    beautiful    and    quiet,"    said 
Mr.  Grummit,  trembling  with  eagerness,  "  and 
I  wouldn't  say  a  word  to  a  soul.     I'll  take  my 
solemn  davit  I  wouldn't." 
Ill 


The  Constable's  Move 

"  When  I  think  o'  my  garden "  began 

the  constable.  With  a  sudden  movement  he 
knocked  off  Mr.  Grummit's  cap,  and  then, 
seizing  him  by  the  coat,  began  to  hustle  him 
along  the  road.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
they  had  closed. 

Tunwich  church  chimed  the  half-hour  as 
they  finished,  and  Mr.  Grummit,  forgetting 
his  own  injuries,  stood  smiling  at  the  wreck 
before  him.  The  constable's  helmet  had  been 
smashed  and  trodden  on;  his  uniform  was  torn 
and  covered  with  blood  and  dirt,  and  his  good 
looks  marred  for  a  fortnight  at  least.  He 
stooped  with  a  groan,  and,  recovering  his 
helmet,  tried  mechanically  to  punch  it  into 
shape.  He  stuck  the  battered  relic  on  his  head, 
and  Mr.  Grummit  fell  back  awed,  despite 
himself. 

"  It  was  a  fair  fight,"  he  stammered. 

The  constable  waved  him  away.  "  Get  out 
o'  my  sight  before  I  change  my  mind,"  he  said, 
fiercely;  "  and  mind,  if  you  say  a  word  about 
this  it'll  be  the  worse  for  you." 

"  Do  you  think  I've  gone  mad?  "  said  the 

112 


The  Constable's  Move 

other.  He  took  another  look  at  his  victim  and, 
turning  away,  danced  fantastically  along  the 
road  home.  The  constable,  making  his  way 
to  a  gas-lamp,  began  to  inspect  damages. 

They  were  worse  even  than  he  had  thought, 
and,  leaning  against  the  lamp-post,  he  sought 
in  vain  for  an  explanation  that,  in  the  absence 
of  a  prisoner,  would  satisfy  the  inspector.  A 
button  which  was  hanging  by  a  thread  fell 
tinkling  on  to  the  footpath,  and  he  had  just 
picked  it  up  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket  when 
a  faint  distant  outcry  broke  upon  his  ear. 

He  turned  and  walked  as  rapidly  as  his 
condition  would  permit  in  the  direction  of 
the  noise.  It  became  louder  and  more  imper- 
ative, and  cries  of  "  Police !  "  became  distinctly 
audible.  He  quickened  into  a  run,  and  turn- 
ing a  corner  beheld  a  little  knot  of  people 
standing  at  the  gate  of  a  large  house.  Other 
people  only  partially  clad  were  hastening  to- 
wards them.  The  constable  arrived  out  of 
breath. 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  said  the  owner 
of  the  house,  sarcastically. 
113 


The  Constable's  Move 

Mr.  Evans,  breathing  painfully,  supported 
himself  with  his  hand  on  the  fence. 

"  They  went  that  way,  but  I  suppose  you 
didn't  see  them,"  continued  the  householder. 
"  Halloa !  "  he  added,  as  somebody  opened 
the  hall  door  and  the  constable's  damaged 
condition  became  visible  in  the  gas-light. 
"Are  you  hurt?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Evans,  who  was  trying  hard 
to  think  clearly.  To  gain  time  he  blew  a  loud 
call  on  his  whistle. 

"The  rascals!"  continued  the  other.  "I 
think  I  should  know  the  big  chap  with  a  beard 
again,  but  the  others  were  too  quick  for  me." 

Mr.  Evans  blew  his  whistle  again — thought- 
fully. The  opportunity  seemed  too  good  to 
lose. 

"  Did  they  get  anything?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Not  a  thing,"  said  the  owner,  triumph- 
antly.    "  I  was  disturbed  just  in  time." 

The  constable  gave  a  slight  gulp.  "  I  saw 
the  three  running  by  the  side  of  the  road,"  he 
said,  slowly.  "  Their  behaviour  seemed  sus- 
picious, so  I  collared  the  big  one,  but  they  set 
114 


The  Constable's  Move 

on  me  like  wild  cats.  They  had  me  down 
three  times;  the  last  time  I  laid  my  head  open 
against  the  kerb,  and  when  I  came  to  my  senses 
again  they  had  gone." 

He  took  off  his  battered  helmet  with  a 
flourish  and,  amid  a  murmur  of  sympathy, 
displayed  a  nasty  cut  on  his  head.  A  sergeant 
and  a  constable,  both  running,  appeared  round 
the  corner  and  made  towards  them. 

"  Get  back  to  the  station  and  make  your 
report,"  said  the  former,  as  Constable  Evans, 
in  a  somewhat  defiant  voice,  repeated  his  story. 
"You've  done  your  best;  I  can  see  that." 

Mr.  Evans,  enacting  to  perfection  the  part 
of  a  wounded  hero,  limped  painfully  off,  pray- 
ing devoutly  as  he  went  that  the  criminals 
might  make  good  their  escape.  If  not,  he  re- 
flected that  the  word  of  a  policeman  was  at 
least  equal  to  that  of  three  burglars. 

He  repeated  his  story  at  the  station,  and, 
after  having  his  head  dressed,  was  sent  home 
and  advised  to  keep  himself  quiet  for  a  day  or 
two.  He  was  off  duty  for  four  days,  and,  the 
Tunwich  Gazette  having  devoted  a  column  to 
115 


The  Constable's  Move 

the  affair,  headed  "  A  Gallant  Constable," 
modestly  secluded  himself  from  the  public 
gaze  for  the  whole  of  that  time. 

To  Mr,  Grummit,  who  had  read  the  article 
in  question  until  he  could  have  repeated  it 
backwards,  this  modesty  was  particularly  try- 
ing. The  constable's  yard  was  deserted  and 
the  front  door  ever  closed.  Once  Mr.  Grum- 
mit even  went  so  far  as  to  tap  with  his  nails 
on  the  front  parlour  window,  and  the  only 
response  was  the  sudden  lowering  of  the  blind. 
It  was  not  until  a  week  afterwards  that  his 
eyes  were  gladdened  by  a  sight  of  the  constable 
sitting  in  his  yard;  and  fearing  that  even  then 
he  might  escape  him,  he  ran  out  on  tip-toe 
and  put  his  face  over  the  fence  before  the  latter 
was  aware  of  his  presence. 

"Wot  about  that  'ere  burglary?"  he 
demanded  in  truculent  tones. 

"  Good  evening,  Grummit,"  said  the  con- 
stable, with  a  patronizing  air. 

"Wot  about  that  burglary?"  repeated  Mr. 
Grummit,    with    a    scowl.      "  I    don't    believe 
you  ever  saw  a  burglar." 
ii6 


The  Constable's  Move 

Mr.  Evans  rose  and  stretched  himself  grace- 
fully. "  You'd  better  run  indoors,  my  good 
man,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"  Telling  all  them  lies  about  burglars,'* 
continued  the  indignant  Mr.  Grummit,  pro- 
ducing his  newspaper  and  waving  it.  "  Why, 
/  gave  you  that  black  eye,  /  smashed  your 
'elmet,     /     cut     your     silly     'ead     open,     / 


"  You've  been  drinking,"  said  the  other, 
severely. 

"You  mean  to  say  I  didn't?"  demanded 
Mr.  Grummit,  ferociously. 

Mr.  Evans  came  closer  and  eyed  him  steadily. 
"  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  he 
said,  calmly. 

Mr.  Grummit,  about  to  speak,  stopped 
appalled  at  such  hardihood. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
were  one  o'  them  burglars,"  continued  the 
constable,  "  why,  say  it  and  I'll  take  you  with 
pleasure.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  did  seem  to 
remember  one  o'  their  voices." 

Mr.  Grummit,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
117 


The  Constable*s  Move 

other's,  backed  a  couple  of  yards  and  breathed 
heavily. 

"  About  your  height,  too,  he  was,"  mused 
the  constable.  "  I  hope  for  your  sake  you 
haven't  been  saying  to  anybody  else  what  you 
said  to  me  just  now." 

Mr.  Grummit  shook  his  head.  "  Not  a 
word,"  he  faltered. 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  said  Mr.  Evans. 
"  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  hard  on  a  neighbour; 
not  that  we  shall  be  neighbours  much  longer." 

Mr.  Grummit,  feeling  that  a  reply  was 
expected  of  him,  gave  utterance  to  a  feeble 
"Oh!" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Evans,  looking  round  dis- 
paragingly. "  It  ain't  good  enough  for  us 
now;  I  was  promoted  to  sergeant  this  morn- 
ing. A  sergeant  can't  live  in  a  common  place 
like  this." 

Mr.  Grummit,  a  prey  to  a  sickening  fear, 
drew  near  the  fence  again.  "  A — a  sergeant?  " 
he  stammered. 

Mr.  Evans  smiled  and  gazed  carefully  at  a 
distant  cloud.  "  For  my  bravery  with  them 
ii8 


The  Constable's  Move 

burglars  the  other  night,  Grummit,"  he  said, 
modestly.  "  I  might  have  waited  years  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  them." 

He  nodded  to  the  frantic  Grummit  and 
turned  away;  Mr.  Grummit,  without  any  adieu 
at  all,  turned  and  crept  back  to  the  house. 


119 


BOB'S 
REDEMPTION 


Bob's  Redemption 

"/^RATITOODE!  "  said  the  night-watch- 
^^  man,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "  Hmf! 
Don't  talk  to  me  about  gratltoode;  I've  seen 
too  much  of  It.  If  people  wot  I've  helped  In 
my  time  'ad  only  done  arf  their  dooty — arf, 
mind  you — I  should  be  riding  in  my  carriage.'* 

Forgetful  of  the  limitations  of  soap-boxes 
he  attempted  to  Illustrate  his  remark  by  lolling, 
and  nearly  went  over  backwards.  Recover- 
ing himself  by  an  effort  he  gazed  sternly  across 
the  river  and  smoked  fiercely.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  brooding  over  an  Ill-used  past. 

'Arry  Thomson  was  one  of  them,  he  said,  at 
last.  For  over  six  months  I  wrote  all  'Is  love- 
letters  for  him,  'e  being  an  iggernerant  sort  of 
man  and  only  being  able  to  do  the  kisses  at  the 
end,  which  he  always  Insisted  on  doing  'imself : 
being  jealous.  Only  three  weeks  arter  he  was 
123 


Bob's  Redemption 

married  'e  come  up  to  where  I  was  standing 
one  day  and  set  about  me  without  saying  a 
word.  I  was  a  single  man  at  the  time  and  I 
didn't  understand  it.  My  idea  was  that  he 
^ad  gone  mad,  and,  being  pretty  artful  and 
always  'aving  a  horror  of  mad  people,  I  let  'im 
chase  me  into  a  police-station.  Leastways,  I 
would  ha'  let  'im,  but  he  didn't  come,  and  I 
all  but  got  fourteen  days  for  being  drunk  and 
disorderly. 

Then  there  was  Bill  Clark.  He  'ad  been 
keeping  comp'ny  with  a  gal  and  got  tired  of  it, 
and  to  oblige  'im  I  went  to  her  and  told  'er  he 
was  a  married  man  with  five  children.  Bill 
was  as  pleased  as  Punch  at  fust,  but  as  soon  as 
she  took  up  with  another  chap  he  came  round 
to  see  me  and  said  as  I'd  ruined  his  life.  We 
'ad  words  about  it — naturally — and  I  did  ruin 
it  then  to  the  extent  of  a  couple  o'  ribs.  I 
went  to  see  'im  in  the  horsepittle — a  place  I've 
always  been  fond  of — and  the  langwidge  he 
used  to  me  was  so  bad  that  they  sent  for  the 
Sister  to  'ear  it. 

That's  on'y  two  out  of  dozens  I  could  name. 
124 


Bob's  Redemption 

Arf  the  unpleasantnesses  in  my  life  'ave  come 
out  of  doing  kindnesses  to  people,  and  all  the 
gratitoode  I've  'ad  for  it  I  could  put  in  a  pint- 
pot  with  a  pint  o'  beer  already  in  it. 

The  only  case  o'  real  gratitoode  I  ever  heard 
of  'appened  to  a  shipmate  o'  mine — a  young 
chap  named  Bob  Evans.  Coming  home  from 
Auckland  in  a  barque  called  the  Dragon  Fly  he 
fell  overboard,  and  another  chap  named  George 
Crofts,  one  o'  the  best  swimmers  I  ever  knew, 
went  overboard  arter  'im  and  saved  his  life. 

We  was  hardly  moving  at  the  time,  and  the 
sea  was  like  a  duck  pond,  but  to  'ear  Bob  Evans 
talk  you'd  ha'  thought  that  George  Crofts  was 
the  bravest-'arted  chap  that  ever  lived.  He 
'adn't  liked  him  afore,  same  as  the  rest  of  us, 
George  being  a  sly,  mean  sort  o'  chap;  but 
arter  George  'ad  saved  his  life  'e  couldn't 
praise  'im  enough.  He  said  that  so  long  as  he 
'ad  a  crust  George  should  share  it,  and  wotever 
George  asked  'im  he  should  have. 

The  unfortnit  part  of  it  was  that  George 
took  'im  at  his  word,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
v'y'ge  he  acted  as  though  Bob  belonged  to  'im, 
125 


Bob's  Redemption 

and  by  the  time  we  got  into  the  London  river 
Bob  couldn't  call  his  soul  'is  own.  He  used  to 
take  a  room  .when  he  was  ashore  and  live  very 
steady,  as  'e  was  saving  up  to  get  married,  and 
as  soon  as  he  found  that  out  George  invited 
'imself  to  stay  with  him. 

"  It  won't  cost  you  a  bit  more,"  he  ses,  "  not 
if  you  work  it  properly." 

Bob  didn't  work  it  properly,  but  George 
having  saved  his  life,  and  never  letting  'im 
forget  it,  he  didn't  like  to  tell  him  so.  He 
thought  he'd  let  'im  see  gradual  that  he'd  got 
to  be  careful  because  of  'is  gal,  and  the  fust 
evening  they  was  ashore  'e  took  'im  along  with 
'im  there  to  tea. 

Gerty  Mitchell — that  was  the  gal's  name — 
*adn't  heard  of  Bob's  accident,  and  when  she 
did  she  gave  a  little  scream,  and  putting  'er 
arms  round  his  neck,  began  to  kiss  'im  right  in 
front  of  George  and  her  mother. 

"  You  ought  to  give  him  one  too,"  ses  Mrs. 
Mitchell,  pointing  to  George. 

George  wiped  'is  mouth  on  the  back  of  his 
*and,  but  Gerty  pretended  not  to  'car, 
126 


Bob's  Redemption 

"  Fancy  if  you'd  been  drownded!  "  she  ses, 
hugging  Bob  agin. 

"  He  was  pretty  near,"  ses  George,  shaking 
his  'ead.  "  I'm  a  pore  swimmer,  but  I  made 
up  my  mind  either  to  save  'im  or  else  go  down 
to  a  watery  grave  myself." 

He  wiped  his  mouth  on  the  back  of  his  'and 
agin,  but  all  the  notice  Gerty  took  of  it  was  to 
send  her  young  brother  Ted  out  for  some  beer. 
Then  they  all  'ad  supper  together,  and  Mrs. 
Mitchell  drank  good  luck  to  George  in  a  glass 
o'  beer,  and  said  she  'oped  that  'er  own  boy 
would  grow  up  like  him.  "  Let  'im  grow  up 
a  good  and  brave  man,  that's  all  I  ask,"  she  ses. 
"  I  don't  care  about  'is  looks." 

"  He  might  have  both,"  ses  George,  sharp- 
like.     "Why  not?" 

Mrs.  Mitchell  said  she  supposed  he  might, 
and  then  she  cuffed  young  Ted's  ears  for  mak- 
ing a  noise  while  'e  was  eating,  and  then  cuffed 
'im  agin  for  saying  that  he'd  finished  'is  supper 
five  minutes  ago. 

George  and  Bob  walked  'ome  together,  and 
all  the  way  there  George  said  wot  a  pretty  gal 
127 


Bob's  Redemption 

Gerty  was  and  'ow  lucky  it  was  for  Bob  that  he 
'adn't  been  drownded.  He  went  round  to  tea 
with  'im  the  next  day  to  Mrs.  Mitchell's,  and 
arter  tea,  when  Bob  and  Gerty  said  they  was 
going  out  to  spend  the  evening  together,  got 
'imself  asked  too. 

They  took  a  tram-car  and  went  to  a  music- 
hall,  and  Bob  paid  for  the  three  of  'em.  George 
never  seemed  to  think  of  putting  his  'and  in 
his  pocket,  and  even  arter  the  music-hall,  when 
they  all  went  into  a  shop  and  'ad  stewed  eels, 
he  let  Bob  pay. 

As  I  said  afore.  Bob  Evans  was  chock-full  of 
gratefulness,  and  it  seemed  only  fair  that  he 
shouldn't  grumble  at  spending  a  little  over  the 
man  wot  'ad  risked  'is  life  to  save  his ;  but  wot 
with  keeping  George  at  his  room,  and  paying 
for  'im  every  time  they  went  out,  he  was  spend- 
ing a  lot  more  money  than  'e  could  afford. 

"  You're  on'y  young  once.  Bob,"  George 
said  to  him  when  'e  made  a  remark  one  arter- 
noon  as  to  the  fast  way  his  money  was  going, 
"  and  if  it  hadn't  ha'  been  for  me  you'd  never 
'ave  lived  to  grow  old." 
128 


Bob's  Redemption 

Wot  with  spending  the  money  and  always 
'aving  George  with  them  when  they  went  out, 
it  wasn't  long  afore  Bob  and  Gerty  'ad  a  quarrel. 
"  I  don't  like  a  pore-spirited  man,"  she  ses. 
"  Two's  company  and  three's  none,  and,  be- 
sides, why  can't  he  pay  for  'imself  ?  He's  big 
enough.  Why  should  you  spend  your  money 
on  'im?     He  never  pays  a  farthing." 

Bob  explained  that  he  couldn't  say  anything 
because  'e  owed  his  life  to  George,  but  'e 
might  as  well  'ave  talked  to  a  lamp-post.  The 
more  he  argued  the  more  angry  Gerty  got,  and 
at  last  she  ses,  *'  Two's  company  and  three's 
none,  and  if  you  and  me  can't  go  out  without 
George  Crofts,  then  me  and  'im  '11  go  out  with- 
out you." 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word,  too,  and  the 
next  night,  while  Bob  'ad  gone  out  to  get  some 
'bacca,  she  went  off  alone  with  George.  It 
was  ten  o'clock  afore  they  came  back  agin,  and 
Gerty's  eyes  were  all  shining  and  'er  cheeks  as 
pink  as  roses.  She  shut  'er  mother  up  like  a 
concertina  the  moment  she  began  to  find 
fault  with  'er,  and  at  supper  she  sat  next 
129 


Bob's  Redemption 

to  George  and  laughed  at  everything  'e 
said. 

George  and  Bob  walked  all  the  way  'ome 
arter  supper  without  saying  a  word,  but  arter 
they  got  to  their  room  George  took  a  side- 
look  at  Bob,  and  then  he  ses,  suddenlike,  "  Look 
'ere!  I  saved  your  life,  didn't  I?  " 

"  You  did,"  ses  Bob,  "  and  I  thank  you  for 
it." 

"  I  saved  your  life,"  ses  George  agin,  very 
solemn.  "  If  it  hadn't  ha'  been  for  me  you 
couldn't  ha'  married  anybody." 

"  That's  true,"  ses  Bob. 

*'  Me  and  Gerty  'ave  been  having  a  talk,"  ses 
George,  bending  down  to  undo  his  boots. 
"We've  been  getting  on  very  well  together; 
you  can't  'elp  your  feelings,  and  the  long  and 
the  short  of  it  is,  the  pore  gal  has  fallen  in  love 
with  me." 

Bob  didn't  say  a  word. 

"  If  you  look  at  it  this  way  it's  fair  enough," 

ses  George.     "  I  gave  you  your  life  and  you 

give   me  your  gal.     We're   quits  now.     You 

don't  owe  me  anything  and  I  don't  owe  you 

J30 


Bob's  Redemption 

anything.  That's  the  way  Gerty  puts  it,  and 
she  told  me  to  tell  you  so," 

"  If — if  she  don't  want  me  I'm  agreeable," 
ses  Bob,  in  a  choking  voice.  "  We'll  call  it 
quits,  and  next  time  I  tumble  overboard  I  'ope 
you  won't  be  handy." 

He  took  Gerty's  photygraph  out  of  'is  box 
and  handed  it  to  George.  "  You've  got  more 
right  to  it  now  than  wot  I  'ave,"  he  ses.  "  I 
shan't  go  round  there  any  more;  I  shall  look 
out  for  a  ship  to-morrow." 

George  Crofts  said  that  perhaps  it  was  the 
best  thing  he  could  do,  and  'e  asked  'im  in  a 
offhand  sort  o'  way  'ow  long  the  room  was 
paid  up  for. 

Mrs.  Mitchell  'ad  a  few  words  to  say  about 
it  next  day,  but  Gerty  told  'er  to  save  'er  breath 
for  walking  upstairs.  The  on'y  thing  that 
George  didn't  like  when  they  went  out  was 
that  young  Ted  was  with  them,  but  Gerty 
said  she  preferred  it  till  she  knew  'im  better; 
and  she  'ad  so  much  to  say  about  his  noble 
behaviour  in  saving  life  that  George  gave  way. 
They  went  out  looking  at  the  shops,  George 
131 


Bob's  Redemption 

thinking  that  that  was  the  cheapest  way  of 
spending  an  evening,  and  they  were  as  happy 
as  possible  till  Gerty  saw  a  brooch  she  liked  so 
much  in  a  window  that  he  couldn't  get  'er 
away. 

"  It  is  a  beauty,"  she  ses.  "  I  don't  know 
when  I've  seen  a  brooch  I  liked  better.  Look 
here!  Let's  all  guess  the  price  and  then  go  in 
and  see  who's  right." 

They  'ad  their  guesses,  and  then  they  went 
in  and  asked,  and  as  soon  as  Gerty  found  that 
it  was  only  three-and-sixpence  she  began  to 
feel  in  her  pocket  for  'er  purse,  just  like  your 
wife  does  when  you  go  out  with  'er,  knowing 
all  the  time  that  it's  on  the  mantelpiece  with 
twopence-ha'penny  and  a  cough  lozenge  in  it. 

"  I  must  ha'  left  it  at  'ome,"  she  ses,  look- 
ing at  George. 

"  Just  wot  I've  done,"  ses  George,  arter 
patting  'is  pockets. 

Gerty  bit  'er  lips  and,  for  a  minute  or  two, 

be  civil  to  George  she  could  not.     Then  she 

gave  a  little  smile  and  took  'is  arm  agin,  and 

they  walked  on  talking  and  laughing  till  she 

132 


Bob's  Redemption 

turned  round  of  a  sudden  and  asked  a  big  chap 
as  was  passing  wot  'e  was  shoving  'er  for. 

"Shoving  you?"  ses  he.  "Wot  do  you 
think  I  want  to  shove  you  for?  " 

"  Don't  you  talk  to  me,"  ses  Gerty,  firing 
up.     "  George,  make  'im  beg  my  pardon." 

"  You  ought  to  be  more  careful,"  ses  George, 
in  a  gentle  sort  o'  way. 

"  Make  'im  beg  my  pardon,"  ses  Gerty, 
stamping  'er  foot;  "if  he  don't,  knock  'im 
down." 

"  Yes,  knock  'im  down,"  ses  the  big  man, 
taking  hold  o'  George's  cap  and  rumpling  his 
'air. 

Pore  George,  who  was  never  much  good  with 
his  fists,  hit  'im  in  the  chest,  and  the  next 
moment  he  was  on  'is  back  in  the  middle  o'  the 
road  wondering  wot  had  'appened  to  'im.  By 
the  time  'e  got  up  the  other  man  was  arf  a  mile 
away;  and  young  Ted  stepped  up  and  wiped 
'im  down  with  a  pocket-'andkerchief  while 
Gerty  explained  to  'im  'ow  she  saw  'im  slip  on 
a  piece  o'  banana  peel. 

"  It's  'ard  lines,"  she  ses;  "  but  never  mind, 
133 


Bob's  Redemption 

you  frightened  'Im  away,  and  I  don't  wonder 
at  it.  You  do  look  terrible  when  you're  angry, 
George;  I  didn't  know  you." 

She  praised  'im  all  the  way  'ome,  and  if  it 
'adn't  been  for  his  mouth  and  nose  George 
would  'ave  enjoyed  it  more  than  'e  did.  She 
told  'er  mother  how  'e  had  flown  at  a  big  man 
wot  'ad  insulted  her,  and  Mrs.  Mitchell 
shook  her  'ead  at  'im  and  said  his  bold  spirit 
would  lead  'im  into  trouble  afore  he  'ad 
done. 

They  didn't  seem  to  be  able  to  make  enough 
of  'im,  and  next  day  when  he  went  round 
Gerty  was  so  upset  at  the  sight  of  'is  bruises 
that  he  thought  she  was  going  to  cry.  When 
he  had  'ad  his  tea  she  gave  'im  a  cigar  she  had 
bought  for  'im  herself,  and  when  he  'ad  finished 
smoking  it  she  smiled  at  him,  and  said  that 
she  was  going  to  take  'im  out  for  a  pleasant 
evening  to  try  and  make  up  to  'im  for  wot  he 
'ad  suffered  for  'er. 

"  We're  all  going  to  stand  treat  to  each 
other,"  she  ses.  "  Bob  always  would  insist  on 
paying  for  everything,  but  I  like  to  feel  a  bit 
134 


Bob's  Redemption 

independent.     Give  and  take — ^that's  the  way 
I  like  to  do  things." 

"  There's  nothing  like  being  independent," 
ses  George.  "  Bob  ought  to  ha'  known 
that." 

"  I'm  sure  it's  the  best  plan,"  ses  Gerty. 
"  Now,  get  your  'at  on.  We're  going  to  a 
theayter,  and  Ted  shall  pay  the  'bus  fares." 

George  wanted  to  ask  about  the  theayter, 
but  'e  didn't  like  to,  and  arter  Gerty  was  dressed 
they  went  out  and  Ted  paid  the  'bus  fares  like 
a  man. 

"  Here  you  are,"  ses  Gerty,  as  the  'bus 
stopped  outside  the  theayter.  "  Hurry  up 
and  get  the  tickets,  George;  ask  for  three 
upper  circles." 

She  bustled  George  up  to  the  pay  place,  and 
as  soon  as  she  'ad  picked  out  the  seats  she 
grabbed  'old  of  the  tickets  and  told  George  to 
make  haste. 

"  Twelve  shillings  it  is,"  .ses  the  man,  as 
George  put  down  arf  a  crown. 

"Twelve?"  ses  George,  beginning  to  stam- 
mer.    "Twelve?    Twelve?    Twel ?" 

135 


Bob's  Redemption 

"Twelve  shillings,"  ses  the  man;  "three 
upper  circles  you've  'ad." 

George  was  going  to  fetch  Gerty  back  and 
'ave  cheaper  seats,  but  she  'ad  gone  inside  with 
young  Ted,  and  at  last,  arter  making  an  awful 
fuss,  he  paid  the  rest  o'  the  money  and  rushed 
in  arter  her,  arf  crazy  at  the  idea  o'  spending 
so  much  money. 

"  Make  'aste,"  ses  Gerty,  afore  he  could  say 
anything;  "  the  band  'as  just  begun." 

She  started  running  upstairs,  and  she  was  so 
excited  that,  when  they  got  their  seats  and 
George  started  complaining  about  the  price, 
she  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  wot  he  was 
saying,  but  kept  pointing  out  ladies'  dresses 
to  'im  in  w'ispers  and  wondering  wot  they  'ad 
paid  for  them.  George  gave  it  up  at  last,  and 
then  he  sat  wondering  whether  he  'ad  done  right 
arter  all  in  taking  Bob's  gal  away  from  him. 

Gerty  enjoyed  it  very  much,  but  when  the 
curtain  came  down  after  the  first  act  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  looked  up  at  George  and 
said  she  felt  faint  and  thought  she'd  like  to  'ave 
an  ice-cream.  "  And  you  'ave  one  too,  dear," 
136 


Bob's  Redemption 

she  ses,  when  young  Ted  'ad  got  up  and 
beckoned  to  the  gal,  *'  and  Ted  'ud  like  one  too, 
I'm  sure." 

She  put  her  'ead  on  George's  shoulder  and 
looked  up  at  'im.  Then  she  put  her  'and  on 
his  and  stroked  it,  and  George,  reckoning  that 
arter  all  ice-creams  were  on'y  a  ha'penny  or  at 
the  most  a  penny  each,  altered  'is  mind  about 
not  spending  any  more  money  and  ordered 
three. 

The  way  he  carried  on  when  the  gal  said 
they  was  three  shillings  was  alarming.  At  fust 
'e  thought  she  was  'aving  a  joke  with  'im,  and 
it  took  another  gal  and  the  fireman  and  an  old 
gentleman  wot  was  sitting  behind  'im  to  per- 
suade 'im  different.  He  was  so  upset  that  'e 
couldn't  eat  his  arter  paying  for  it,  and  Ted  and 
Gerty  had  to  finish  it  for  'im. 

"  They're  expensive,  but  they're  worth  the 
money,"  ses  Gerty.  "  You  are  good  to  me, 
George.  I  could  go  on  eating  'em  all  night, 
but  you  mustn't  fling  your  money  away  like 
this  always." 

"  I'll  see  to  that,"  ses  George,  very  bitter. 
137 


Bob's  Redemption 

"  I  thought  we  was  going  to  stand  treat  to  each 
other?    That  was  the  idea,  I  understood." 

"  So  we  are,"  ses  Gerty.  "  Ted  stood  the 
'bus  fares,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  He  did,"  ses  George,  "  wot  there  was  of 
'em ;  but  wot  about  you  ?  " 

"Me?"  ses  Gerty,  drawing  her  'ead  back 
and  staring  at  'im.  "  Why,  'ave  you  forgot 
that  cigar  already,  George  ?  " 

George  opened  'is  mouth,  but  'e  couldn't 
speak  a  word.  He  sat  looking  at  'er  and  mak- 
ing a  gasping  noise  in  'is  throat,  and  fortu- 
nately just  as  'e  got  'is  voice  back  the  curtain 
went  up  agin,  and  everybody  said,  "  H'shf  " 

He  couldn't  enjoy  the  play  at  all,  'e  was  so 
upset,  and  he  began  to  see  more  than  ever  'ow 
wrong  he  'ad  been  in  taking  Bob's  gal  away 
from  'im.  He  walked  downstairs  into  the 
street  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  with  Gerty  stick- 
ing to  'is  arm  and  young  Ted  treading  on  'is 
heels  behind. 

"  Now,  you  mustn't  waste  any  more  money, 
George,"  ses  Gerty,  when  they  got  outside. 
"  We'll  walk  'ome." 

138 


Bob's  Redemption 

George  'ad  got  arf  a  mind  to  say  something 
about  a  'bus,  but  he  remembered  in  time  that 
very  likely  young  Ted  hadn't  got  any  more 
money.  Then  Gerty  said  she  knew  a  short  cut, 
and  she  took  them,  walking  along  little,  dark, 
narrow  streets  and  places,  until  at  last,  just  as 
George  thought  they  must  be  pretty  near  'ome, 
she  began  to  dab  her  eyes  with  'er  pocket- 
'andkerchief  and  say  she'd  lost  'er  way. 

*'  You  two  go  'ome  and  leave  me,"  she  ses, 
arf  crying.     "  I  can't  walk  another  step." 

"Where  are  we?"  ses  George,  looking 
round. 

"  I  don't  know,"  ses  Gerty.  "  I  couldn't  tell 
you  if  you  paid  me.  I  must  'ave  taken  a  wrong 
turning.     Oh,  hurrah !     Here's  a  cab !  " 

Afore  George  could  stop  'er  she  held  up  'er 
umbrella,  and  a  'ansom  cab,  with  bells  on  its 
horse,  crossed  the  road  and  pulled  up  in  front 
of  'em.  Ted  nipped  in  first  and  Gerty  followed 
'im. 

"  Tell  'im  the  address,  dear,  and  make  'aste 
and  get  in,"  ses  Gerty. 

George  told  the  cabman,  and  then  he  got 
139 


Bob's  Redemption 

in  and  sat  on  Ted's  knee,  partly  on  Gerty's 
umbrella,  and  mostly  on  nothing. 

"  You  are  good  to  me,  George,"  ses  Gerty, 
touching  the  back  of  'is  neck  with  the  brim  of 
her  hat.  "  It  ain't  often  I  get  a  ride  in  a  cab. 
All  the  time  I  was  keeping  company  with  Bob 
we  never  'ad  one  once.  I  only  wish  I'd  got 
the  money  to  pay  for  it." 

George,  who  was  going  to  ask  a  question, 
stopped  'imself,  and  then  he  kept  striking 
matches  and  trying  to  read  all  about  cab  fares 
on  a  bill  in  front  of  'im. 

"  'Ow  are  we  to  know  'ow  many  miles  it 
is  ?  "  he  ses,  at  last. 

"  I  don't  know,"  ses  Gerty;  "  leave  it  to  the 
cabman.  It's  his  bisness,  ain't  it?  And  if  'e 
don't  know  he  must  suffer  for  it." 

There  was  hardly  a  soul  in  Gerty's  road  when 
they  got  there,  but  afore  George  'ad  settled 
with  the  cabman  there  was  a  policeman  mov- 
ing the  crowd  on  and  arf  the  winders  in  the 
road  up.  By  the  time  George  had  paid  'im 
and  the  cabman  'ad  told  him  wot  'e  looked 
like,  Gerty  and  Ted  'ad  disappeared  indoors, 
140 


Afore  George  had  settled  with  the  cabman,  there  was  a  policeman  moving 
the  crowd  on. 


Bob's  Redemption 

all  the  lights  was  out,  and,  in  a  state  o'  mind 
that  won't  bear  thinking  of,  George  walked 
'ome  to  his  lodging. 

Bob  was  asleep  when  he  got  there,  but  'e 
woke  'im  up  and  told  'im  about  it,  and  then 
arter  a  time  he  said  that  he  thought  Bob  ought 
to  pay  arf  because  he  'ad  saved  'is  life. 

"  Cert'nly  not,"  ses  Bob.  "  We're  quits 
now;  that  was  the  arrangement.  I  only  wish 
it  was  me  spending  the  money  on  her;  I 
shouldn't  grumble." 

George  didn't  get  a  wink  o'  sleep  all  night 
for  thinking  of  the  money  he  'ad  spent,  and 
next  day  when  he  went  round  he  'ad  almost 
made  up  'is  mind  to  tell  Bob  that  if  'e  liked  to 
pay  up  the  money  he  could  'ave  Gerty  back; 
but  she  looked  so  pretty,  and  praised  'im  up  so 
much  for  'is  generosity,  that  he  began  to  think 
better  of  it.  One  thing  'e  was  determined  on, 
and  that  was  never  to  spend  money  like  that 
agin  for  fifty  Gertys. 

There  was  a  very  sensible  man  there  that 
evening  that  George  liked  very  much.  His 
name  was  Uncle  Joe,  and  when  Gerty  was 
141 


Bob's  Redemption 

praising  George  to  'is  face  for  the  money  he  'ad 
been  spending,  Uncle  Joe,  instead  o'  looking 
pleased,  shook  his  'ead  over  it. 

"  Young  people  will  be  young  people,  I 
know,"  he  ses,  "  but  still  I  don't  approve  of 
extravagance.  Bob  Evans  would  never  'ave 
spent  all  that  money  over  you." 

"  Bob  Evans  ain't  everybody,"  ses  Mrs. 
Mitchell,  standing  up  for  Gerty. 

"  He  was  steady,  anyway,"  ses  Uncle  Joe. 
"  Besides,  Gerty  ought  not  to  ha'  let  Mr.  Crofts 
spend  his  money  like  that.  She  could  ha'  pre- 
vented it  If  she'd  ha'  put  'er  foot  down  and 
insisted  on  it." 

He  was  so  solemn  about  it  that  everybody 
began  to  feel  a  bit  upset,  and  Gerty  borrowed 
Ted's  pocket-'andkerchief,  and  then  wiped  'er 
eyes  on  the  cuff  of  her  dress  instead. 

"Well,  well,"  ses  Uncle  Joe;  "I  didn't 
mean  to  be  'ard,  but  don't  do  it  no  more.  You 
are  young  people,  and  can't  afford  it." 

"  We  must  'ave  a  little  pleasure  sometimes," 
ses  Gerty. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  ses  Uncle  Joe;  "  but  there's 
142 


Bob's  Redemption 

moderation  in  everything.  Look  'ere,  it's  time 
somebody  paid  for  Mr.  Crofts.  To-morrow's 
Saturday,  and,  if  you  like,  I'll  take  you  all  to 
the  Crystal  Palace." 

Gerty  jumped  up  off  of  'er  chair  and  kissed 
'im,  while  Mrs.  Mitchell  said  she  knew  'is  bark 
was  worse  than  'is  bite,  and  asked  'im  who  was 
wasting  his  money  now? 

"  You  meet  me  at  London  Bridge  Station  at 
two  o'clock,"  ses  Uncle  Joe,  getting  up  to  go. 
"  It  ain't  extravagance  for  a  man  as  can  afford 
it." 

He  shook  'ands  with  George  Crofts  and  went, 
and,  arter  George  'ad  stayed  long  enough  to 
hear  a  lot  o'  things  about  Uncle  Joe  which 
made  'im  think  they'd  get  on  very  well  together, 
he  went  off  too. 

They  all  turned  up  very  early  the  next  arter- 
noon,  and  Gerty  was  dressed  so  nice  that 
George  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  of  her.  Be- 
sides her  there  was  Mrs.  Mitchell  and  Ted  and 
a  friend  of  'is  named  Charlie  Smith. 

They  waited  some  time,  but  Uncle  Joe 
didn't  turn  up,  and  they  all  got  looking  at  the 
143 


Bob's  Redemption 

clock    and    talking    about    it,    and    'oping    he 
wouldn't  make  'em  miss  the  train. 

"  Here  he  comes !  "  ses  Ted,  at  last. 

Uncle  Joe  came  rushing  in,  puffing  and 
blowing  as  though  he'd  bust.  "  Take  'em 
on  by  this  train,  will  you  ?  "  he  ses,  catching 
*old  o'  George  by  the  arm.  "  I've  just  been 
stopped  by  a  bit  o'  business  I  must  do,  and  I'll 
come  on  by  the  next,  or  as  soon  arter  as  I  can." 

He  rushed  off  again,  puffing  and  blowing  his 
'ardest,  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  forgot  to  give 
George  the  money  for  the  tickets.  However, 
George  borrowed  a  pencil  of  Mrs.  Mitchell  in 
the  train,  and  put  down  on  paper  'ow  much  they 
cost,  and  Mrs.  Mitchell  said  if  George  didn't 
like  to  remind  'im  she  would. 

They  left  young  Ted  and  Charlie  to  stay  near 
the  station  when  they  got  to  the  Palace,  Uncle 
Joe  'aving  forgotten  to  say  where  he'd  meet  'em, 
but  train  arter  train  came  in  without  'im,  and 
at  last  the  two  boys  gave  it  up. 

"  We're  sure  to  run  across  'im  sooner  or 
later,"  ses  Gerty.  "  Let's  'ave  something  to 
cat;  I'm  so  hungry." 

144 


Bob's  Redemption 

George  said  something  about  buns  and  milk, 
but  Gerty  took  'Im  up  sharp.  "  Buns  and 
milk?"  she  ses.  "Why,  uncle  would  never 
forgive  us  If  we  spoilt  his  treat  like  that." 

She  walked  Into  a  refreshment  place  and  they 
'ad  cold  meat  and  bread  and  pickles  and  beer 
and  tarts  and  cheese,  till  even  young  Ted  said 
he'd  'ad  enough,  but  still  they  couldn't  see  any 
signs  of  Uncle  Joe.  They  went  on  to  the 
roundabouts  to  look  for  'Im,  and  then  into  all 
sorts  o'  shows  at  sixpence  a  head,  but  still  there 
was  no  signs  of  'Im,  and  George  had  'ad  to 
start  on  a  fresh  bit  o'  paper  to  put  down  wot 
he'd  spent. 

"  I  suppose  he  must  ha'  been  detained  on 
important  business,"  ses  Gerty,  at  last. 

"  Unless  It's  one  of  'is  jokes,"  ses  Mrs. 
Mitchell,  shaking  her  'ead.  "  You  know  wot 
your  uncle  is,  Gerty." 

"  There  now,  I  never  thought  o'  that,"  ses 
Gerty,  with  a  start;  "  p'r'aps  It  is." 

"/o^^?"  ses  George,  choking  and  staring 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I  was  wondering  where  he'd  get  the  money 
145 


Bob's  Redemption 

from,"  ses  Mrs.  Mitchell  to  Gerty.  "  I  see  it 
all  now ;  I  never  see  such  a  man  for  a  bit  o'  fun 
in  all  my  born  days.  And  the  solemn  way  he 
went  on  last  night,  too.  Why,  he  must  ha' 
been  laughing  in  'is  sleeve  all  the  time.  It's  as 
good  as  a  play." 

"  Look  here !  "  ses  George,  'ardly  able  to 
speak;  "  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  he  never  meant 
to  come?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  ses  Mrs.  Mitchell,  "  know- 
ing wot  he  is.  But  don't  you  worry;  I'll 
give  him  a  bit  o'  my  mind  when  I  see  'im." 

George  Crofts  felt  as  though  he'd  burst,  and 
then  'e  got  his  breath,  and  the  things  'e  said 
about  Uncle  Joe  was  so  awful  that  Mrs. 
Mitchell  told  the  boys  to  go  away. 

"  How  dare  you  talk  of  my  uncle  like  that?  " 
ses  Gerty,  firing  up. 

"  You  forget  yourself,  George,"  ses  Mrs. 
Mitchell.  "  You'll  like  'im  when  you  get  to 
know  'im  better." 

"  Don't  you  call  me  George,"  ses  George 
Crofts,  turning  on  'er.  "  I've  been  done, 
that's  wot  I've  been.  I  'ad  fourteen  pounds 
146 


Bob's  Redemption 

when  I  was  paid  off,  and  it's  melting  like 
butter." 

"  Well,  we've  enjoyed  ourselves,"  ses  Gerty, 
"  and  that's  what  money  was  given  us  for.  I'm 
sure  those  two  boys  'ave  had  a  splendid  time, 
thanks  to  you.  Don't  go  and  spoil  all  by  a 
little  bit  o'  temper." 

"Temper!"  ses  George,  turning  on  her. 
"  I've  done  with  you,  I  wouldn't  marry  you  if 
you  was  the  on'y  gal  in  the  world.  I  wouldn't 
marry  you  if  you  paid  me." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  ses  Gerty;  "but  if  you 
think  you  can  get  out  of  it  like  that  you're  mis- 
taken. I've  lost  my  young  man  through  you, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  lose  you  too.  I'll  send  my 
two  big  cousins  round  to  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  They  won't  put  up  with  no  nonsense,  I 
can  tell  you,"  ses  Mrs.  Mitchell. 

She  called  the  boys  to  her,  and  then  she  and 
Gerty,  arter  holding  their  'eads  very  high  and 
staring  at  George,  went  off  and  left  'im  alone. 
He  went  straight  off  'ome,  counting  'is  money 
all  the  way  and  tr}'ing  to  make  it  more,  and, 
arter  telling  Bob  'ow  he'd  been  treated,  and 
147 


Bob's  Redemption 

trying  hard  to  get  'im  to  go  shares  in  his  losses, 
packed  up  his  things  and  cleared  out,  all  boil- 
ing over  with  temper. 

Bob  was  so  dazed  he  couldn't  make  head  or 
tail  out  of  it,  but  'e  went  round  to  see  Gerty 
the  first  thing  next  morning,  and  she  explained 
things  to  him. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I've  enjoyed  myself  so 
much,"  she  ses,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  but  I've  had 
enough  gadding  about  for  once,  and  if  you 
come  round  this  evening  we'll  have  a  nice  quiet 
time  together  looking  at  the  furniture  shops." 


148 


OVER    THE 
SIDE 


Over  the  Side 

OF  all  classes  of  men,  those  who  follow  the 
sea  are  probably  the  most  prone  to 
superstition.  Afloat  upon  the  black  waste  of 
waters,  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  sea,  with 
vast  depths  and  strange  creatures  below  them, 
a  belief  in  the  supernatural  is  easier  than 
ashore,  under  the  cheerful  gas-lamps.  Strange 
stories  of  the  sea  are  plentiful,  and  an  Incident 
which  happened  within  my  own  experience 
has  made  me  somewhat  chary  of  dubbing  a 
man  fool  or  coward  because  he  has  encountered 
something  he  cannot  explain.  There  are 
stories  of  the  supernatural  with  prosaic  sequels; 
there  are  others  to  which  the  sequel  has  never 
been  published. 

I  was  fifteen  years  old  at  the  time,  and  as  my 
father,  who  had  a  strong  objection  to  the  sea, 
151 


Over  the  Side 

would  not  apprentice  me  to  it,  I  shipped  before 
the  mast  on  a  sturdy  little  brig  called  the 
Endeavour,  bound  for  Riga.  She  was  a  small 
craft,  but  the  skippert  was  as  fine  a  seaman 
as  one  could  wish  for,  and,  in  fair  weather,  an 
easy  man  to  sail  under.  Most  boys  have  a 
rough  time  of  it  when  they  first  go  to  sea,  but, 
with  a  strong  sense  of  what  was  good  for  me, 
I  had  attached  myself  to  a  brawny,  good- 
natured  infant,  named  Bill  Smith,  and  it  was 
soon  understood  that  whoever  hit  me  struck 
Bill  by  proxy.  Not  that  the  crew  were 
particularly  brutal,  but  a  sound  cuffing  occa- 
sionally is  held  by  most  seamen  to  be  beneficial 
to  a  lad's  health  and  morals.  The  only  really 
spiteful  fellow  among  them  was  a  man  named 
Jem  Dadd.  He  was  a  morose,  sallow-looking 
man,  of  about  forty,  with  a  strong  taste  for  the 
supernatural,  and  a  stronger  taste  still  for 
frightening  his  fellows  with  it.  I  have  seen 
Bill  almost  afraid  to  go  on  deck  of  a  night  for 
his  trick  at  the  wheel,  after  a  few  of  his  reminis- 
cences. Rats  were  a  favourite  topic  with  him, 
and  he  would  never  allow  one  to  be  killed  if 
152 


Over  the  Side 

he  could  help  it,  for  he  claimed  for  them  that 
they  were  the  souls  of  drowned  sailors,  hence 
their  love  of  ships  and  their  habit  of  leaving 
them  when  they  became  unseaworthy.  He 
was  a  firm  believer  In  the  transmigration  of 
souls,  some  Idea  of  which  he  had,  no  doubt, 
picked  up  In  Eastern  ports,  and  gave  his 
shivering  auditors  to  understand  that  his 
arrangements  for  his  own  Immediate  future 
were  already  perfected. 

We  were  six  or  seven  days  out  when  a 
strange  thing  happened.  Dadd  had  the  second 
watch  one  night,  and  Bill  was  to  relieve  him. 
They  were  not  very  strict  aboard  the  brig  In 
fair  weather,  and  when  a  man's  time  was  up  he 
just  made  the  wheel  fast,  and,  running  for'ard, 
shouted  down  the  fo'c's'le.  On  this  night  I 
happened  to  awake  suddenly,  in  time  to  see 
Bill  slip  out  of  his  bunk  and  stand  by  me, 
rubbing  his  red  eyelids  with  his  knuckles. 

"  Dadd's  giving  me  a  long  time,"  he  whis- 
pered, seeing  that  I  was  awake;  "  it's  a  whole 
hour  after  his  time." 

He  pattered  up  on  deck,  and  I  was  just  turn- 
153 


Over  the  Side 

Ing  over,  thankful  that  I  was  too  young  to  have 
a  watch  to  keep,  when  he  came  softly  down 
again,  and,  taking  me  by  the  shoulders,  shook 
me  roughly. 

"  Jack,"  he  whispered.     "  Jack." 

I  raised  myself  on  my  elbows,  and,  in  the 
light  of  the  smoking  lamp,  saw  that  he  was 
shaking  all  over. 

"  Come  on  deck,"  he  said,  thickly. 

I  put  on  my  clothes,  and  followed  him 
quietly  to  the  sweet,  cool  air  above.  It  was  a 
beautiful  clear  night,  but,  from  his  manner,  I 
looked  nervously  around  for  some  cause  of 
alarm.  I  saw  nothing.  The  deck  was  de- 
serted, except  for  the  solitary  figure  at  the 
wheel. 

"  Look  at  him,"  whispered  Bill,  bending 
a  contorted  face  to  mine. 

I  walked  aft  a  few  steps,  and  Bill  followed 
slowly.  Then  I  saw  that  Jem  Dadd  was 
leaning  forward  clumsily  on  the  wheel,  with 
his  hands  clenched  on  the  spokes. 

"  He's  asleep,"  said  I,  stopping  short. 

Bill  breathed  hard.  "  He's  in  a  queer 
154 


Over  the  Side 

sleep,"  said  he;  "kind  o'  trance  more  like. 
Go  closer." 

I  took  fast  hold  of  Bill's  sleeve,  and  we  both 
went.  The  light  of  the  stars  was  sufficient  to 
show  that  Dadd's  face  was  very  white,  and  that 
his  dim,  black  eyes  were  wide  open,  and  staring 
in  a  very  strange  and  dreadful  manner  straight 
before  him. 

"Dadd,"  said  I,  softly,  "Dadd!" 

There  was  no  reply,  and,  with  a  view  of 
arousing  him,  I  tapped  one  sinewy  hand  as  it 
gripped  the  wheel,  and  even  tried  to  loosen  it. 

He  remained  immovable,  and,  suddenly 
with  a  great  cry,  my  courage  deserted  me,  and 
Bill  and  I  fairly  bolted  down  into  the  cabin  and 
woke  the  skipper. 

Then  we  saw  how  it  was  with  Jem,  and  two 
strong  seamen  forcibly  loosened  the  grip  of 
those  rigid  fingers,  and,  laying  him  on  the  deck, 
covered  him  with  a  piece  of  canvas.  The  rest 
of  the  night  two  men  stayed  at  the  wheel,  and, 
gazing  fearfully  at  the  outline  of  the  canvas, 
longed  for  dawn. 

It  came  at  last,  and,  breakfast  over,  the  body 
155 


Over  the  Side 

was  sewn  up  in  canvas,  and  the  skipper  held  a 
short  service  compiled  from  a  Bible  which 
belonged  to  the  mate,  and  what  he  remembered 
of  the  Burial  Service  proper.  Then  the 
corpse  went  overboard  with  a  splash,  and  the 
men,  after  standing  awkwardly  together  for 
a  few  minutes,  slowly  dispersed  to  their 
duties. 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  we  were  all  very 
quiet  and  restrained;  pity  for  the  dead  man 
being  mingled  with  a  dread  of  taking  the  wheel 
when  night  came. 

"  The  wheel's  haunted,"  said  the  cook, 
solemnly;  "mark  my  words,  there's  more  of 
you  will  be  took  the  same  way  Dadd  was." 

The  cook,  like  myself,  had  no  watch  to  keep. 

The  men  bore  up  pretty  well  until  night 
came  on  again,  and  then  they  unanimously 
resolved  to  have  a  double  watch.  The  cook, 
sorely  against  his  will,  was  impressed  into  the 
service,  and  I,  glad  to  oblige  my  patron,  agreed 
to  stay  up  with  Bill. 

Some  of  the  pleasure  had  vanished  by  the 
time  night  came,  and  I  seemed  only  just  to 
156 


Over  the  Side 

have  closed  my  eyes  when  Bill  came,  and,  with 
a  rough  shake  or  two,  informed  me  that  the 
time  had  come.  Any  hope  that  I  might  have 
had  of  escaping  the  ordeal  was  at  once  dispelled 
by  his  expectant  demeanour,  and  the  helpful 
way  in  which  he  assisted  me  with  my  clothes, 
and,  yawning  terribly,  I  followed  him  on  deck. 

The  night  was  not  so  clear  as  the  preceding 
one,  and  the  air  was  chilly,  with  a  little  moisture 
in  it.  I  buttoned  up  my  jacket,  and  thrust  my 
hands  in  my  pockets. 

"Everything  quiet?"  asked  Bill  as  he 
stepped  up  and  took  the  wheel. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Roberts,  "  quiet  as  the 
grave,"  and,  followed  by  his  willing  mate,  he 
went  below. 

I  sat  on  the  deck  by  Bill's  side  as,  with  a 
light  touch  on  the  wheel,  he  kept  the  brig  to 
her  course.  It  was  weary  work  sitting  there, 
doing  nothing,  and  thinking  of  the  warm  berth 
below,  and  I  believe  that  I  should  have  fallen 
asleep,  but  that  my  watchful  companion 
stirred  me  with  his  foot  whenever  he  saw  me 
nodding. 

157 


Over  the  Side 

I  suppose  I  must  have  sat  there,  shivering  and 
yawning,  for  about  an  hour,  when,  tired  of 
inactivity,  I  got  up  and  went  and  leaned  over 
the  side  of  the  vessel.  The  sound  of  the 
water  gurgling  and  lapping  by  was  so  soothing 
that  I  began  to  doze. 

I  was  recalled  to  my  senses  by  a  smothered 
cry  from  Bill,  and,  running  to  him,  I  found 
him  staring  to  port  in  an  intense  and  uncom- 
fortable fashion.  At  my  approach,  he  took 
one  hand  from  the  wheel,  and  gripped  my 
arm  so  tightly  that  I  was  like  to  have  screamed 
with  the  pain  of  it. 

"  Jack,"  said  he,  in  a  shaky  voice,  "  while 
you  was  away  something  popped  its  head  up, 
and  looked  over  the  ship's  side." 

"  You've  been  dreaming,"  said  I,  in  a  voice 
which  was  a  very  fair  imitation  of  Bill's  own. 

"Dreaming,"  repeated  Bill,  "dreaming  I 
Ah,  look  there!  " 

He   pointed   with   outstretched   finger,    and 

my  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  as  I  saw  a 

man's   head   appear   above   the   side.      For  a 

brief  space  it  peered  at  us  in  silence,  and  then 

158 


Over  the  Side 

a  dark  figure  sprang  like  a  cat  on  to  the 
deck,  and  stood  crouching  a  short  distance 
away. 

A  mist  came  before  my  eyes,  and  my  tongue 
failed  me,  but  Bill  let  off  a  roar,  such  as  I  have 
never  heard  before  or  since.  It  was  answered 
from  below,  both  aft  and  for'ard,  and  the  men 
came  running  up  on  deck  just  as  they  left  their 
beds. 

"  What's  up?  "  shouted  the  skipper,  glancing 
aloft. 

For  answer,  Bill  pointed  to  the  intruder, 
and  the  men,  who  had  just  caught  sight  of  him, 
came  up  and  formed  a  compact  knot  by  the 
wheel. 

"  Come  over  the  side,  it  did,"  panted  Bill, 
"  come  over  like  a  ghost  out  of  the  sea." 

The  skipper  took  one  of  the  small  lamps  from 
the  binnacle,  and,  holding  it  aloft,  walked 
boldly  up  to  the  cause  of  alarm.  In  the  little 
patch  of  light  we  saw  a  ghastly  black-bearded 
man,  dripping  with  water,  regarding  us  with 
unwinking  eyes,  which  glowed  red  in  the  light 
of  the  lamp. 

159 


Over  the  Side 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  asked  the 
skipper. 

The  figure  shook  its  head. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from?  "  he  repeated, 
walking  up,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  other's 
shoulder. 

Then  the  intruder  spoke,  but  in  a  strange 
fashion  and  in  strange  words.  We  leaned 
forward  to  listen,  but,  even  when  he  repeated 
them,  we  could  make  nothing  of  them. 

"  He's  a  furriner,"  said  Roberts. 

"  Blest  if  I've  ever  'card  the  lingo  afore," 
said  Bill.     "  Does  anybody  rekernize  it?  " 

Nobody  did,  and  the  skipper,  after  another 
attempt,  gave  it  up,  and,  falling  back  upon  the 
universal  language  of  signs,  pointed  first  to  the 
man  and  then  to  the  sea.  The  other  under- 
stood him,  and,  in  a  heavy,  slovenly  fashion, 
portrayed  a  man  drifting  in  an  open  boat,  and 
clutching  and  clambering  up  the  side  of  a 
passing  ship.  As  his  meaning  dawned  upon  us, 
we  rushed  to  the  stern,  and,  leaning  over, 
peered  into  the  gloom,  but  the  night  was  dark, 
and  we  saw  nothing. 

i6o 


Over  the  Side 

"  Well,"  said  the  skipper,  turning  to  Bill, 
with  a  mighty  yawn,  "  take  him  below,  and 
give  him  some  grub,  and  the  next  time  a  gentle- 
man calls  on  you,  don't  make  such  a  con- 
founded row  about  it." 

He  went  below,  followed  by  the  mate,  and 
after  some  slight  hesitation,  Roberts  stepped 
up  to  the  intruder,  and  signed  to  him  to  follow. 
He  came  stolidly  enough,  leaving  a  trail  of 
water  on  the  deck,  and,  after  changing  into  the 
dry  things  we  gave  him,  fell  to,  but  without 
much  appearance  of  hunger,  upon  some  salt 
beef  and  biscuits,  regarding  us  between  bites 
with  black,  lack-lustre  eyes. 

"  He  seems  as  though  he's  a-walking  in  his 
sleep,"  said  the  cook. 

"  He  ain't  very  hungry,"  said  one  of  the 
men;  "  he  seems  to  mumble  his  food." 

"Hungry!"  repeated  Bill,  who  had  just 
left  the  wheel.  "  Course  he  ain't  famished. 
He  had  his  tea  last  night." 

The  men  stared  at  him  In  bewilderment. 

"  Don't  you  see?  "  said  Bill,  still  in  a  hoarse 
whisper;  "ain't  you  ever  seen  them  eyes 
i6i 


Over  the  Side 

afore?  Don't  you  know  what  he  used  to  say 
about  dying?  It's  Jem  Dadd  come  back  to  us. 
Jem  Dadd  got  another  man's  body,  as  he 
always  said  he  would." 

"  Rot !  "  said  Roberts,  trying  to  speak 
bravely,  but  he  got  up,  and,  with  the  others, 
huddled  together  at  the  end  of  the  fo'c's'le, 
and  stared  in  a  bewildered  fashion  at  the  sodden 
face  and  short,  squat  figure  of  our  visitor. 
For  his  part,  having  finished  his  meal,  he 
pushed  his  plate  from  him,  and,  leaning  back 
on  the  locker,  looked  at  the  empty  bunks. 

Roberts  caught  his  eye,  and,  with  a  nod  and 
a  wave  of  his  hand,  indicated  the  bunks.  The 
fellow  rose  from  the  locker,  and,  amid  a  breath- 
less silence,  climbed  into  one  of  them — Jem 
Dadd's! 

He  slept  in  the  dead  sailor's  bed  that  night, 
the  only  man  in  the  fo'c's'le  who  did  sleep 
properly,  and  turned  out  heavily  and  lump- 
ishly  in  the  morning  for  breakfast. 

The  skipper  had  him  on  deck  after  the  meal, 
but  could  make  nothing  of  him.  To  all  his 
questions  he  replied  in  the  strange  tongue  of 
162 


Over  the  Side 

the  night  before,  and,  though  our  fellows  had 
been  to  many  ports,  and  knew  a  word  or  two 
of  several  languages,  none  of  them  recognized 
It.  The  skipper  gave  it  up  at  last,  and,  left  to 
himself,  he  stared  about  him  for  some  time, 
regardless  of  our  interest  in  his  movements, 
and  then,  leaning  heavily  against  the  side  of 
the  ship,  stayed  there  so  long  that  we  thought 
he  must  have  fallen  asleep. 

"  He's  half-dead  now  I  "  whispered  Roberts. 

"Hush!"  said  Bill,  "  mebbe  he's  been  in 
the  water  a  week  or  two,  and  can't  quite 
make  it  out.     See  how  he's  looking  at  it  now." 

He  stayed  on  deck  all  day  in  the  sun,  but, 
as  night  came  on,  returned  to  the  warmth  of 
the  fo'c's'le.  The  food  we  gave  him  remained 
untouched,  and  he  took  little  or  no  notice  of  us, 
though  I  fancied  that  he  saw  the  fear  we  had 
of  him.  He  slept  again  in  the  dead  man's  bunk, 
and  when  morning  came  still  lay  there. 

Until    dinner-time,    nobody    interfered   with 

him,    and   then    Roberts,    pushed   forward   by 

the  others,   approached  him  with  some  food. 

He  motioned  It  away  with   a   dirty,   bloated 

163 


Over  the  Side 

hand,  and,  making  signs  for  water,  drank  It 
eagerly. 

For  two  days  he  stayed  there  quietly,  the 
black  eyes  always  open,  the  stubby  fingers 
always  on  the  move.  On  the  third  morning 
Bill,  who  had  conquered  his  fear  sufficiently  to 
give  him  water  occasionally,  called  softly  to  us. 

"  Come  and  look  at  him,"  said  he.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  him?  " 

"He's  dying!"  said  the  cook,  with  a 
shudder. 

"  He  can't  be  going  to  die  yet  I  "  said  Bill, 
blankly. 

As  he  spoke  the  man's  eyes  seemed  to  get 
softer  and  more  life-like,  and  he  looked  at  us 
piteously  and  helplessly.  From  face  to  face  he 
gazed  in  mute  inquiry,  and  then,  striking  his 
chest  feebly  with  his  fist,  uttered  two  words. 

We  looked  at  each  other  blankly,  and  he 
repeated  them  eagerly,  and  again  touched  his 
chest. 

"  It's  his  name,"  said  the  cook,  and  we  all 
repeated  them. 

He  smiled  in  an  exhausted  fashion,  and  then, 
164 


Over  the  Side 

rallying  his  energies,  held  up  a  forefinger;  as 
we  stared  at  this  new  riddle,  he  lowered  it, 
and  held  up  all  four  fingers,  doubled. 

"Come  away,"  quavered  the  cook;  "he's 
putting  a  spell  on  us." 

We  drew  back  at  that,  and  back  farther  still, 
as  he  repeated  the  motions.  Then  Bill's 
face  cleared  suddenly,  and  he  stepped  towards 
him. 

"He  means  his  wife  and  younkers!"  he 
shouted  eagerly.  "  This  ain't  no  Jem 
Dadd!" 

It  was  good  then  to  see  how  our  fellows 
drew  round  the  dying  sailor,  and  strove  to 
cheer  him.  Bill,  to  show  he  understood  the 
finger  business,  nodded  cheerily,  and  held  his 
hand  at  four  different  heights  from  the  floor. 
The  last  was  very  low,  so  low  that  the  man  set 
his  lips  together,  and  strove  to  turn  his  heavy 
head  from  us. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Bill,  "  he  wants  us  to 
tell  his  wife   and  children  what's  become  of 
him.     He  must  ha'  been  dying  when  he  come 
aboard.    What  was  his  name,  again?" 
i6s 


Over  the  Side 

But  the  name  was  not  easy  to  English  lips, 
and  we  had  already  forgotten  it. 

"  Ask  him  again,"  said  the  cook,  "  and  write 
it  down.    Who's  got  a  pen?  " 

He  went  to  look  for  one  as  Bill  turned  to  the 
sailor  to  get  him  to  repeat  it.  Then  he  turned 
round  again,  and  eyed  us  blankly,  for,  by  this 
time,  the  owner  had  himself  forgotten  it. 


i66 


FOUR 
PIGEONS 


The  Four  Pigeons 

THE  old  man  took  up  his  mug  and  shifted 
along  the  bench  until  he  was  in  the 
shade  of  the  elms  that  stood  before  the  Cauli- 
flower. The  action  also  had  the  advantage  of 
bringing  him  opposite  the  two  strangers  who 
were  refreshing  themselves  after  the  toils  of  a 
long  walk  in  the  sun. 

"  My  hearing  ain't  wot  it  used  to  be,"  he 
said,  tremulously.  "  When  you  asked  me  to 
have  a  mug  o'  ale  I  'ardly  heard  you;  and  if 
you  was  to  ask  me  to  'ave  another,  I  mightn't 
hear  you  at  all." 

One  of  the  men  nodded. 

"  Not  over  there,"  piped  the  old  man. 
"  That's  why  I  come  over  here,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause.  "  It  'ud  be  rude  like  to  take  no 
notice;  if  you  was  to  ask  me." 

He  looked  round  as  the  landlord  approached, 
169 


The  Four  Pigeons 

and  pushed  his  mug  gently  in  his  direction. 
The  landlord,  obeying  a  nod  from  the  second 
stranger,  filled  It. 

"  It  puts  life  Into  me,"  said  the  old  man, 
raising  it  to  his  lips  and  bowing.  "  It  makes 
me  talk." 

"  Time  we  were  moving,  Jack,"  said  the 
first  traveller.  The  second,  assenting  to  this 
as  an  abstract  proposition,  expressed,  however, 
a  determination  to  finish  his  pipe  first. 

I  heard  you  saying  something  about  shoot- 
ing, continued  the  old  man,  and  that  reminds 
me  of  some  shooting  we  'ad  here  once  In  Clay- 
bury.  We've  always  'ad  a  lot  o'  game  in  these 
parts,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  a  low,  poaching 
fellow  named  Bob  Pretty — Claybury's  disgrace 
I  call  'im — ^we'd  'ave  a  lot  more. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  Squire  Rockett 
was  going  abroad  to  foreign  parts  for  a  year, 
and  he  let  the  Hall  to  a  gentleman  from  London 
named  Sutton.  A  real  gentleman  'e  was,  open- 
'anded  and  free,  and  just  about  October  he  'ad 
a  lot  of  'is  friends  come  down  from  London  to 
'elp  *im  kill  the  pheasants. 
170 


The  Four  Pigeons 

The  first  day  they  frightened  more  than 
they  killed,  but  they  enjoyed  theirselves  all 
right  until  one  gentleman,  who  'adn't  shot  a 
single  thing  all  day,  shot  pore  Bill  Chambers 
wot  was  beating  with  about  a  dozen  more. 

Bill  got  most  of  it  in  the  shoulder  and  a 
little  In  the  cheek,  but  the  row  he  see  fit  to 
make  you'd  ha'  thought  he'd  been  killed.  He 
laid  on  the  ground  groaning  with  'is  eyes  shut, 
and  everybody  thought  'e  was  dying  till  Henery 
Walker  stooped  down  and  asked  'im  whether 
'e  was  hurt. 

It  took  four  men  to  carry  Bill  'ome,  and 
he  was  that  particular  you  wouldn't  believe. 
They  'ad  to  talk  in  whispers,  and  when  Peter 
Gubbins  forgot  'imself  and  began  to  whistle  he 
asked  him  where  his  'art  was.  When  they 
walked  fast  he  said  they  jolted  'im,  and  when 
they  walked  slow  'e  asked  'em  whether  they'd 
gone  to  sleep  or  wot. 

Bill  was  in  bed  for  nearly  a  week,  but  the 
gentleman  was  very  nice  about  It  and  said  that 
it  was  his  fault.  He  was  a  very  pleasant- 
spoken  gentleman,  and,  arter  sending  Dr. 
171 


The  Four  Pigeons 

Green  to  him  and  saying  he'd  pay  the  bill,  *e 
gave  Bill  Chambers  ten  pounds  to  make  up  for 
'is  sufferings. 

Bill  'ad  intended  to  lay  up  for  another  week, 
and  the  doctor,  wot  'ad  been  calling  twice  a 
day,  said  he  wouldn't  be  responsible  for  'is  life 
if  he  didn't;  but  the  ten  pounds  was  too  much 
for  'im,  and  one  evening,  just  a  week  arter  the 
accident,  he  turned  up  at  this  Cauliflower 
public-'ouse  and  began  to  spend  'is  money. 

His  face  was  bandaged  up,  and  when  'e  come 
in  he  walked  feeble-like  and  spoke  in  a  faint 
sort  o'  voice.  Smith,  the  landlord,  got  'Im  a 
easy-chair  and  a  couple  of  pillers  out  o'  the 
parlour,  and  Bill  sat  there  like  a  king,  telling  us 
all  his  sufferings  and  wot  it  felt  like  to  be 
shot. 

I  always  have  said  wot  a  good  thing  beer  is, 
and  it  done  Bill  more  good  than  doctor's 
medicine.  When  he  came  in  he  could  'ardly 
crawl,  and  at  nine  o'clock  'e  was  out  of  the 
easy-chair  and  dancing  on  the  table  as  well  as 
possible.  He  smashed  three  mugs  and  upset 
about  two  pints  o'  beer,  but  he  just  put  his 
172 


The  Four  Pigeons 

*and  in  his  pocket  and  paid  for  'em  without  a 
word. 

"  There's  plenty  more  where  that  came 
from,"  he  ses,  pulling  out  a  handful  o'  money. 

Peter  Gubbins  looked  at  it,  'ardly  able  to 
speak.  "  It's  worth  while  being  shot  to  'ave 
all  that  money,"  he  ses,  at  last. 

"  Don't  you  worry  yourself,  Peter,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty;  "there's  plenty  more  of  you  as'll  be 
shot  afore  them  gentlemen  at  the  Hall  'as 
finished.  Bill's  the  fust,  but  'e  won't  be  the 
last — not  by  a  long  chalk." 

"  They're  more  careful  now,"  ses  Dicky 
Weed,  the  tailor. 

"  All  right;  'ave  it  your  own  way,"  ses  Bob, 
nasty-like.  "  I  don't  know  much  about  shoot- 
ing, being  on'y  a  pore  labourin'  man.  All  I 
know  is  I  shouldn't  like  to  go  beating  for  them. 
I'm  too  fond  o'  my  wife  and  family." 

"  There  won't  be  no  more  shot,"  ses  Sam 
Jones. 

"  We're  too  careful,"  ses  Peter  Gubbins. 

"Bob  Pretty  don't  know  everything,"  ses 
Dicky  Weed. 

173 


The  Four  Pigeons 

"  ril  bet  you  what  you  like  there'll  be  some 
more  of  you  shot,"  ses  Bob  Pretty,  In  a  temper. 
"  Now,  then." 

"  'Ow  much'U  you  bet.  Bob,"  ses  Sam 
Jones,  with  a  wink  at  the  others. 

"  I  can  see  you  winking,  Sam  Jones,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty,  "  but  I'll  do  more  than  bet.  The  last 
bet  I  won  Is  still  owing  to  me.  Now,  look  'ere ; 
I'll  pay  you  sixpence  a  week  all  the  time  you're 
beating  If  you  promise  to  give  me  arf  of  wot  you 
get  If  you're  shot.    I  can't  say  fairer  than  that." 

"  Will  you  give  me  sixpence  a  week,  too?  '* 
ses  Henery  Walker,  jumping  up. 

"  I  win,"  ses  Bob;  "  and  anybody  else  that 
likes.  And  wot's  more,  I'll  pay  In  advance. 
Fust  sixpences  now." 

Claybury  men  'ave  never  been  backward 
when  there's  been  money  to  be  made  easy, 
and  they  all  wanted  to  join  Bob  Pretty's  club, 
as  he  called  It.  But  fust  of  all  'e  asked  for  a 
pen  and  ink,  and  then  he  got  Smith,  the  land- 
lord, being  a  scholard,  to  write  out  a  paper 
for  them  to  sign.  Henery  Walker  was  the 
fust  to  write  'is  name,  and  then  Sam  Jones,  Peter 
174 


The  Four   Pigeons 

Gubblns,  Ralph  Thomson,  Jem  Hall,  and 
Walter  Bell  wrote  theirs.  Bob  stopped  'em 
then,  and  said  six  'ud  be  enough  to  go  on  with; 
and  then  'e  paid  up  the  sixpences  and  wished 
'em  luck. 

Wot  they  liked  a'most  as  well  as  the  six- 
pences was  the  idea  o'  getting  the  better  o* 
Bob  Pretty.  As  I  said  afore,  he  was  a  poacher, 
and  that  artful  that  up  to  that  time  nobody 
'ad  ever  got  the  better  of  'im. 

They  made  so  much  fun  of  'im  the  next 
night  that  Bob  turned  sulky  and  went  off  'ome, 
and  for  two  or  three  nights  he  'ardly  showed 
his  face;  and  the  next  shoot  they  'ad  he  went 
off  to  Wickham  and  nobody  saw  'im  all 
day. 

That  very  day  Henery  Walker  was  shot. 
Several  gentlemen  fired  at  a  rabbit  that  was 
started,  and  the  next  thing  they  knew  Henery 
Walker  was  lying  on  the  ground  calling  out 
that  'is  leg  'ad  been  shot  off. 

He  made  more  fuss  than  Bill  Chambers 
a'most,  'specially  when  they  dropped  'im  off 
a  hurdle  carrying  him  'ome,  and  the  things  he 
175 


The  Four  Pigeons 

said  to  Dr.  Green  for  rubbing  his  'ands  as  he 
came  into  the  bedroom  was  disgraceful. 

The  fust  Bob  Pretty  'card  of  it  was  up  at  the 
Cauliflower  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  and 
he  set  down  'is  beer  and  set  off  to  see  Henery 
as  fast  as  'is  legs  could  carry  'im.  Henery  was 
asleep  when  'e  got  there,  and,  do  all  he  could. 
Bob  Pretty  couldn't  wake  'im  till  he  sat  down 
gentle  on  'is  bad  leg. 

"  It's  on'y  me,  old  pal,"  he  ses,  smiling  at  'im 
as  Henery  woke  up  and  shouted  at  'im  to  get  up. 

Henery  Walker  was  going  to  say  something 
bad,  but  'e  thought  better  of  it,  and  he  lay 
there  arf  busting  with  rage,  and  watching  Bob 
out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye. 

"  I  quite  forgot  you  was  on  my  club  till 
Smith  reminded  me  of  it,"  ses  Bob.  "  Don't 
you  take  a  farthing  less  than  ten  pounds, 
Henery." 

Henery  Walker  shut  his  eyes  again.  "  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  I  made  up  my  mind  this 
morning  not  to  belong  to  your  club  any  more, 
Bob,"  he  ses. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  and  tcU  me,  Henery, 
176 


The  fust  Bob  Pretty  'card  of  it  was  up  at  the  Caulijiotoer  at  eight  o'clock 
that  evening. 


The  Four  Pigeons         ^ 

instead  of  leaving  it  till  it  was  too  late?"  ses 
Be  J,  shaking  his  'ead  at  'im. 

"  I  shall  want  all  that  money,"  ses  Henery 
in  a  weak  voice.  "  I  might  'ave  to  have  a 
wooden  leg,  Bob." 

"  Don't  meet  troubles  arf  way,  Henery," 
ses  Bob,  in  a  kind  voice.  "  I've  no  doubt  Mr. 
Sutton'll  throw  in  a  wooden  leg  if  you  want  it, 
and  look  here,  if  he  does,  I  won't  trouble  you 
for  my  arf  of  it." 

He  said  good-night  to  Henery  and  went  off, 
and  when  Mrs.  Walker  went  up  to  see  'ow 
Henery  was  getting  on  he  was  carrying  on  that 
alarming  that  she  couldn't  do  nothing  with 
'im. 

He  was  laid  up  for  over  a  week,  though  it's 
my  opinion  he  wasn't  much  hurt,  and  the 
trouble  was  that  nobody  knew  which  gentle- 
man 'ad  shot  'im.  Mr.  Sutton  talked  it  over 
with  them,  and  at  last,  arter  a  good  deal  o' 
trouble,  and  Henery  pulling  up  'is  trousers 
and  showing  them  'is  leg  till  they  was  fair 
sick  of  the  sight  of  it,  they  paid  'im  ten  pounds, 
the  same  as  they  'ad  Bill. 
177 


The  Four  Pigeons 

It  took  Bob  Pretty  two  days  to  get  his  arf, 
but  he  kept  very  quiet  about  it,  not  wishing 
to  make  a  fuss  in  the  village  for  fear  Mr.  Sutton 
should  get  to  hear  of  the  club.  At  last  he  told 
Henery  Walker  that  'e  was  going  to  Wickham 
to  see  'is  lawyer  about  it,  and  arter  Smith  the 
landlord  'ad  read  the  paper  to  Henery  and 
explained  'ow  he'd  very  likely  'ave  to  pay 
more  than  the  whole  ten  pounds  then,  'e 
gave  Bob  his  arf  and  said  he  never  wanted  to 
see  'im  again  as  long  as  he  lived. 

Bob  stood  treat  up  at  the  Cauliflower  that 
night,  and  said  'ow  bad  he'd  been  treated. 
The  tears  stood  in  'is  eyes  a'most,  and  at  last  'e 
said  that  if  'e  thought  there  was  going  to  be 
any  more  fuss  of  that  kind  he'd  wind  up  the 
club. 

"  It's  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  ses  Sam 
Jones;  "  I'm  not  going  to  belong  to  it  any 
longer,  so  I  give  you  notice.  If  so  be  as  I  get 
shot  I  want  the  money  for  myself." 

"  Me,  too,"  ses  Peter  Gubbins;  "  it  'ud  fair 
break  my  'art  to  give  Bob  Pretty  five  pounds. 
I'd  sooner  give  it  to  my  wife." 
178 


The  Four  Pigeons 

All  the  other  chaps  said  the  same  thing,  but 
Bob  pointed  out  to  them  that  they  'ad  taken 
their  sixpences  on'y  the  night  afore,  and  they 
must  stay  in  for  the  week.  He  said  that  was  the 
law.  Some  of  'em  talked  about  giving  'im  'is 
sixpences  back,  but  Bob  said  if  they  did  they 
must  pay  up  all  the  sixpences  they  had  'ad  for 
three  weeks.  The  end  of  it  was  they  said  they'd 
stay  in  for  that  week  and  not  a  moment  longer. 

The  next  day  Sam  Jones  and  Peter  Gubbins 
altered  their  minds.  Sam  found  a  couple  o' 
shillings  that  his  wife  'ad  hidden  in  her  Sunday 
bonnet,  and  Peter  Gubbins  opened  'is  boy's 
money-box  to  see  'ow  much  there  was  in  it. 
They  came  up  to  the  Cauliflower  to  pay  Bob 
their  eighteenpences,  but  he  wasn't  there,  and 
when  they  went  to  his  'ouse  Mrs.  Pretty  said 
as  'ow  he'd  gone  off  to  Wickham  and  wouldn't 
be  back  till  Saturday.  So  they  'ad  to  spend 
the  money  on  beer  instead. 

That  was  on  Tuesday,  and  things  went  on 

all   right   till    Friday,    when    Mr.    Sutton    'ad 

another  shoot.     The  birds  was  getting  scarce 

and  the  gentlemen  that  anxious  to  shoot  them 

179 


The  Four  Pigeons 

there  was  no  'olding  them.  Once  or  twice  the 
keepers  spoke  to  'em  about  carefulness,  and 
said  wot  large  families  they'd  got,  but  it  wasn't 
much  good.  They  went  on  blazing  away,  and 
just  at  the  corner  of  the  wood  Sam  Jones  and 
Peter  Gubbins  was  both  hit;  Sam  in  the  leg 
and  Peter  in  the  arm. 

The  noise  that  was  made  was  awful — every- 
body shouting  that  they  'adn't  done  it,  and  all 
speaking  at  once,  and  Mr.  Sutton  was  dancing 
about  a'most  beside  'imself  with  rage.  Pore 
Sam  and  Peter  was  'elped  along  by  the  others ; 
Sam  being  carried  and  Peter  led,  and  both  of 
'em  with  the  idea  of  getting  all  they  could  out 
of  it,  making  such  'orrible  noises  that  Mr. 
Sutton  couldn't  hear  'imself  calling  his  friends 
names. 

"  There  seems  to  be  wounded  men  calling 
out  all  over  the  place,"  he  ses,  in  a  temper. 

"  I  think  there  is  another  one  over  there, 
sir,"  ses  one  o'  the  keepers,  pointing. 

Sam  Jones  and  Peter  Gubbins  both  left  off 
to  listen,  and  then  they  all  heard  it  distinctly. 
A  dreadful  noise  it  was,  and  when  Mr.  Sutton 
i8o 


The  Four  Pigeons 

and  one  or  two  more  follered  it  up  they  found 
poor  Walter  Bell  lying  on  'is  face  in  a  bramble. 

"  Wot's  the  matter?  "  ses  Mr.  Sutton,  shout- 
ing at  'im. 

"  I've  been  shot  from  behind,"  ses  Walter. 
"  I'd  got  something  in  my  boot,  and  I  was  just 
stooping  down  to  fasten  it  up  agin  when  I  got 
it." 

"  But  there  oughtn't  to  be  anybody  'ere,'* 
ses  Mr.  Sutton  to  one  of  the  keepers. 

"  They  get  all  over  the  place,  sir,"  ses  the 
keeper,  scratching  his  'ead.  "  I  fancied  I 
'eard  a  gun  go  off  here  a  minute  or  two  arter 
the  others  was  shot." 

"  I  believe  he's  done  it  'imself,"  says  Mr. 
Sutton,  stamping  his  foot. 

"  I  don't  see  'ow  he  could,  sir,"  ses  the 
keeper,  touching  his  cap  and  looking  at  Walter 
as  was  still  lying  with  'is  face  on  'is  arms. 

They  carried  Walter  'ome  that  way  on  a 
hurdle,  and  Dr.  Green  spent  all  the  rest  o'  that 
day  picking  shots  out  o'  them  three  men  and 
telling  'em  to  keep  still.  He  'ad  to  do  Sam 
Jones  by  candle-light,  with  Mrs.  Jones  'olding 
i8i 


The  Four  Pigeons 

the  candle  with  one  hand  and  crying  with  the 
other.  Twice  the  doctor  told  her  to  keep  it 
steady,  and  poor  Sam  'ad  only  just  passed  the 
remark,  *'  How  'ot  it  was  for  October,"  when 
they  discovered  that  the  bed  was  on  fire.  The 
doctor  said  that  Sam  was  no  trouble.  He  got 
off  of  the  bed  by  'imself,  and,  when  it  was  all 
over  and  the  fire  put  out,  the  doctor  found 
him  sitting  on  the  stairs  with  the  leg  of  a 
broken  chair  in  'is  hand  calling  for  'is  wife. 

Of  course,  there  was  a  terrible  to-do  about 
it  in  Claybury,  and  up  at  the  Hall,  too.  All  of 
the  gentlemen  said  as  'ow  they  hadn't  done  it, 
and  Mr.  Sutton  was  arf  crazy  with  rage.  He 
said  that  they  'ad  made  'im  the  laughing- 
stock of  the  neighbourhood,  and  that  they 
oughtn't  to  shoot  with  anything  but  pop-guns. 
They  got  to  such  high  words  over  it  that  two 
of  the  gentlemen  went  off  'ome  that  very  night. 

There  was  a  lot  of  talk  up  at  the  Cauliflower, 
too,  and  more  than  one  pointed  out  'ow  lucky 
Bob  Pretty  was  in  getting  four  men  out  of  the 
six  in  his  club.  As  I  said  afore.  Bob  was  away 
at  the  time,  but  he  came  back  the  next  night 
182 


The  Four  Pigeons 

and  we  'ad  the  biggest  row  here  you  could  wish 
for  to  see. 

Henery  Walker  began  it.  "  I  s'pose  you've 
'card  the  dreadful  news,  Bob  Pretty?  "  he  ses, 
looking  at  'im. 

"I  'ave,"  ses  Bob;  "and  my  'art  bled  for 
'em.  I  told  you  wot  those  gentlemen  was 
like,  didn't  I  ?  But  none  of  you  would  believe 
me.     Now  you  can  see  as  I  was  right." 

"  It's  very  strange,"  ses  Henery  Walker, 
looking  round;  "  it's  very  strange  that  all  of 
us  wot's  been  shot  belonged  to  Bob  Pretty's 
precious  club.'* 

"It's  my  luck,  Henery,"  ses  Bob.  "I 
always  was  lucky  from  a  child." 

"  And  I  s'pose  you  think  you're  going  to 
'ave  arf  of  the  money  they  get?  "  ses  Henery 
Walker. 

"  Don't  talk  about  money  while  them  pore 
chaps  is  suffering,"  ses  Bob.  "  I'm  surprised 
at  you,  Henery." 

"  You  won't  'ave  a  farthing  of  it,"  ses  Henery 
Walker;    "  and  wot's   more.   Bob  Pretty,   I'm 
going  to  'ave  my  five  pounds  back." 
183 


The  Four  Pigeons 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,  Henery,"  ses  Bob, 
smiling  at  'im. 

"  I'm  going  to  'ave  my  five  pounds  back,"  ses 
Henery,  "  and  you  know  why.  I  know  wot 
your  club  was  for  now,  and  we  was  all  a  pack 
o'  silly  fools  not  to  see  it  afore." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  Henery,"  ses  John 
Biggs,  who  thought  Henery  was  looking  at  'im. 

"  I've  been  putting  two  and  two  together," 
ses  Henery,  looking  round,  "  and  it's  as  plain 
as  the  nose  on  your  face.  Bob  Pretty  hid  up  in 
the  wood  and  shot  us  all  himself!  " 

For  a  moment  you  might  'ave  heard  a  pin 
drop,  and  then  there  was  such  a  noise  nobody 
could  hear  theirselves  speak.  Everybody  was 
shouting  his  'ardest,  and  the  on'y  quiet  one 
there  was  Bob  Pretty  'imself. 

"  Poor  Henery;  he's  gorn  mad,"  he  ses, 
shaking  his  'ead. 

"  You're  a  murderer,"  ses  Ralph  Thomson, 
shaking  'is  fist  at  him. 

"  Henery  Walker's  gorn  mad,"  ses  Bob  agin. 
"  Why,  I  ain't  been  near  the  place.  There's 
a  dozen  mcn'U  swear  that  I  was  at  Wick- 
184 


The  Four  Pigeons 

ham  each  time  these  misfortunate  accidents 
'appened." 

*'  Men  like  you,  they'd  swear  anything  for  a 
pot  o'  beer,"  ses  Henery.  "  But  I'm  not 
going  to  waste  time  talking  to  you.  Bob  Pretty, 
I'm  going  straight  off  to  tell  Mr.  Sutton." 

"  I  shouldn't  do  that  If  I  was  you,  Henery," 
ses  Bob. 

"  I  dessay,"  ses  Henery  Walker;  "but  then 
you  see  I  am." 

"  I  thought  you'd  gorn  mad,  Henery,"  ses 
Bob,  taking  a  drink  o'  beer  that  somebody  'ad 
left  on  the  table  by  mistake,  "  and  now  I'm 
sure  of  it.  Why,  If  you  tell  Mr.  Sutton  that 
it  wasn't  his  friends  that  shot  them  pore 
fellers  he  won't  pay  them  anything.  'Tain't 
likely  'e  would,  Is  it?  " 

Henery  Walker,  wot  'ad  been  standing  up 
looking  fierce  at  'im,  sat  down  agin,  struck  all 
of  a  heap. 

"  And  he  might  want  your  ten  pounds  back, 

Henery,"   said    Bob   In   a   soft   voice.      "  And 

seeing  as  'ow  you  was  kind  enough  to  give  five 

to  me,   and  spent  most  of  the  other,   it   'ud 

185 


The  Four  Pigeons 

come  'ard  on  you,  wouldn't  it?  Always  think 
afore  you  speak,  Henery.     I  always  do." 

Henery  Walker  got  up  and  tried  to  speak, 
but  'e  couldn't,  and  he  didn't  get  'is  breath 
back  till  Bob  said  it  was  plain  to  see  that  he 
*adn't  got  a  word  to  say  for  'imself.  Then  he 
shook  'is  fist  at  Bob  and  called  'im  a  low, 
thieving,  poaching  murderer. 

"  You're  not  yourself,  Henery,"  ses  Bob. 
"  When  you  come  round  you'll  be  sorry  for 
trying  to  take  away  the  character  of  a  pore 
labourin'  man  with  a  ailing  wife  and  a  large 
family.  But  if  you  take  my  advice  you  won't 
say  anything  more  about  your  wicked  ideas; 
if  you  do,  these  pore  fellers  won't  get  a  farthing. 
And  you'd  better  keep  quiet  about  the  club 
mates  for  their  sakes.  Other  people  might 
get  the  same  crazy  ideas  in  their  silly  'eads  as 
Henery.     Keepers  especially." 

That  was  on'y  common  sense;  but,  as 
John  Biggs  said,  it  did  seem  'ard  to  think  as  'ow 
Bob  Pretty  should  be  allowed  to  get  off  scot- 
free,  and  with  Henery  Walker's  five  pounds 
too.  "There's  one  thing,"  he  ses  to  Bob; 
i86 


The  Four  Pigeons 

"  you  won't  'ave  any  of  these  other  pore  chaps 
money;  and,  if  they're  men,  they  ought  to 
make  It  up  to  Henery  Walker  for  the  money  he 
'as  saved  'em  by  finding  you  out." 

"  They've  got  to  pay  me  fust,"  ses  Bob. 
'*  I'm  a  pore  man,  but  I'll  stick  up  for  my 
rights.  As  for  me  shooting  'em,  they'd  ha* 
been  'urt  a  good  deal  more  if  I'd  done  it — 
especially  Mr.  Henery  Walker.  Why,  they're 
hardly  'urt  at  all." 

"  Don't  answer  'im,  Henery,"  ses  John 
Biggs.  "  You  save  your  breath  to  go  and  tell 
Sam  Jones  and  the  others  about  It.  It'll 
cheer  'em  up." 

"  And  tell  'em  about  my  arf,  In  case  they  get 
too  cheerful  and  go  overdoing  it,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty,  stopping  at  the  door.  "  Good-night 
all." 

Nobody  answered  'im;  and  arter  waiting  a 
little  bit  Henery  Walker  set  off  to  see  Sam 
Jones  and  the  others.  John  Biggs  was  quite 
right  about  its  making  'em  cheerful,  but  they 
see  as  plain  as  Bob  'imself  that  it  'ad  got  to  be 
kept  quiet.  "  Till  we've  spent  the  money,  at 
187 


The  Four  Pigeons 

any  rate,"  ses  Walter  Bell;  "then  p'r'aps 
Mr.  Sutton  might  get  Bob  locked  up  for  it." 

Mr.  Sutton  went  down  to  see  'em  all  a  day 
or  two  afterwards.  The  shooting-party  was 
broken  up  and  gone  'ome,  but  they  left  some 
money  behind  'em.  Ten  pounds  each  they 
was  to  'ave,  same  as  the  others,  but  Mr.  Sutton 
jsaid  that  he  'ad  heard  'ow  the  other  money  was 
wasted  at  the  Cauliflower,  and  'e  was  going  to 
give  it  out  to  'em  ten  shillings  a  week  until  the 
money  was  gom.  He  'ad  to  say  it  over  and 
over  agin  afore  they  understood  'im,  and 
Walter  Bell  'ad  to  stuff  the  bedclo'es  in  'is 
mouth  to  keep  civil. 

Peter  Gubbins,  with  Ms  arm  tied  up  in  a 
sling,  was  the  fust  one  to  turn  up  at  the  Cauli- 
flower, and  he  was  that  down-'arted  about  it 
we  couldn't  do  nothing  with  'im.  He  'ad 
expected  to  be  able  to  pull  out  ten  golden 
sovereigns,  and  the  disapp'intment  was  too 
much  for  'im. 

"  I  wonder  'ow  they  heard  about  it,"  ses 
Dicky  Weed. 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  ses  Bob  Pretty,  wot  'ad 
i88 


The  Four  Pigeons  • 

been  sitting  up  in  a  corner  by  himself,  nodding 
and  smiling  at  Peter,  wot  wouldn't  look  at  'im. 
"  A  friend  o'  mine  at  Wickham  wrote  to  him 
about  it.  He  was  so  disgusted  at  the  way  Bill 
Chambers  and  Henery  Walker  come  up  'ere 
wasting  their  'ard-earned  money,  that  he  sent 
'im  a  letter,  signed  '  A  Friend  of  the  Working 
Man,'  telling  'im  about  it  and  advising  'im  what 
to  do." 

"  A  friend  o'  yours?  "  ses  John  Biggs,  star- 
ing at 'im.    "What  for?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  ses  Bob;  "  he's  a  wunner- 
ful  good  scholard,  and  he  likes  writin'  letters. 
He's  going  to  write  another  to-morrer,  unless 
I  go  over  and  stop  'im." 

"Another?"  ses  Peter,  who  'ad  been  tellin' 
everybody  that  'e  wouldn't  speak  to  'im  agin 
as  long  as  he  lived.     "  Wot  about?  " 

"  About  the  idea  that  I  shot  you  all,"  ses 
Bob.  "  I  want  my  character  cleared.  O' 
course,  they  can't  prove  anything  against  me 
— I've  got  my  witnesses.  But,  taking  one 
thing  with  another,  I  see  now  that  it  does 
look  suspicious,  and  I  don't  suppose  any  of 
189 


The  Four  Pigeons 

you'll  get  any  more  of  your  money.  Mr. 
Sutton  is  so  sick  o'  being  laughed  at,  he'll  jump 
at  anything." 

"  You  dursn't  do  it,  Bob,"  ses  Peter,  all  of 
a  tremble. 

"  It  ain't  me,  Peter,  old  pal,"  ses  Bob,  "  it's 
my  friend.  But  I  don't  mind  stopping  'im  for 
the  sake  of  old  times  if  I  get  my  arf.  He'd 
listen  to  me,  I  feel  sure." 

At  fust  Peter  said  he  wouldn't  get  a  farthing 
out  of  'im  if  his  friend  wrote  letters  till  Dooms- 
day; but  by-and-by  he  thought  better  of  it, 
and  asked  Bob  to  stay  there  while  he  went  down 
to  see  Sam  and  Walter  about  it.  When  'e 
came  back  he'd  got  the  fust  week's  money  for 
Bob  Pretty;  but  he  said  he  left  Walter  Bell 
carrying  on  like  a  madman,  and,  as  for  Sam 
Jones,  he  was  that  upset  'e  didn't  believe  he'd 
last  out  the  night. 


190 


THE    TEMPTATION 
OF  SAMUEL  BURGE 


The  Temptation  of  Samuel 
Bume 


MR.  HIGGS,  jeweller,  sat  in  the  small 
parlour  behind  his  shop,  gazing  hun- 
grily at  a  supper-table  which  had  been  laid 
some  time  before.  It  was  a  quarter  to  ten  by 
the  small  town  clock  on  the  mantelpiece,  and 
the  jeweller  rubbing  his  hands  over  the  fire 
tried  in  vain  to  remember  what  etiquette  had 
to  say  about  starting  a  meal  before  the  arrival 
of  an  expected  guest. 

*'  He  must  be  coming  by  the  last  train  after 
all,  sir,"  said  the  housekeeper  entering  the 
room  and  glancing  at  the  clock.  "  I  suppose 
these  London  gentlemen  keep  such  late  hours 
they  don't  understand  us  country  folk  wanting 
to  get  to  bed  in  decent  time.  You  must  be 
wanting  your  supper,  sir." 

Mr.  Higgs  sighed.  "  I  shall  be  glad  of  my 
193 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

supper,"  he  said  slowly,  "  but  I  dare  say  our 
friend  is  hungrier  still.  Travelling  is  hungry 
work." 

"'  Perhaps  he  is  thinking  over  his  words  for 
the  seventh  day,"  said  the  housekeeper  solemn- 
ly. "  Forgetting  hunger  and  thirst  and  all 
our  poor  earthly  feelings  in  the  blessedness  of 
his  work." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  assented  the  other,  whose  own 
earthly  feelings  were  particularly  strong  just  at 
that  moment. 

"  Brother  Simpson  used  to  forget  all  about 
meal-times  when  he  stayed  here,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  clasping  her  hands.  "  He  used 
to  sit  by  the  window  with  his  eyes  half-closed 
and  shake  his  head  at  the  smell  from  the 
kitchen  and  call  It  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  He 
said  that  if  it  wasn't  for  keeping  up  his  strength 
for  the  work,  luscious  bread  and  fair  water 
was  all  he  wanted.  I  expect  Brother  Burge 
will  be  a  similar  sort  of  man." 

"  Brother  Clark  wrote  and  told  me  that  he 
only  lives  for  the  work,"  said  the  jeweller,  with 
194 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

another  glance  at  the  clock.  "  The  chapel  at 
Clerkenwell  is  crowded  to  hear  him.  It's  a 
blessed  favour  and  privilege  to  have  such  a 
selected  instrument  staying  in  the  house.  I'm 
curious  to  see  him;  from  what  Brother  Clark 
said  I  rather  fancy  that  he  was  a  little  bit  wild 
in  his  younger  days." 

"Hallelujah!"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper 
with  fervour.  "  I  mean  to  think  as  he's  seen 
the  error  of  his  ways,"  she  added  sharply,  as 
her  master  looked  up. 

"  There  he  is,"  said  the  latter,  as  the  bell 
rang. 

The  housekeeper  went  to  the  side-door,  and 
drawing  back  the  bolt  admitted  the  gentleman 
whose  preaching  had  done  so  much  for  the 
small  but  select  sect  known  as  the  Seventh  Day 
Primitive  Apostles.  She  came  back  Into  the 
room  followed  by  a  tall  stout  man,  whose 
upper  lip  and  short  stubby  beard  streaked  with 
grey  .seemed  a  poor  match  for  the  beady  eyes 
which  lurked  behind  a  pair  of  clumsy  spec- 
tacles. 

195 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"Brother  Samuel  Burge?"  inquired  the 
jeweller,  rising. 

The  visitor  nodded,  and  regarding  him  with 
a  smile  charged  with  fraternal  love,  took  his 
hand  in  a  huge  grip  and  shook  it  fer- 
vently. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Brother  Higgs,"  he 
said,  regarding  him  fondly.  "  Oh,  'ow  my 
eyes  have  yearned  to  be  set  upon  you!  Oh, 
'ow  my  ears  'ave  longed  to  hearken  unto  the 
words  of  your  voice !  " 

He  breathed  thickly,  and  taking  a  seat  sat 
with  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  looking  at  a  fine 
piece  of  cold  beef  which  the  housekeeper  had 
just  placed  upon  the  table. 

"Is  Brother  Clark  well?"  inquired  the 
jeweller,  placing  a  chair  for  him  at  the  table 
and  taking  up  his  carving-knife. 

"  Dear  Brother  Clark  is  in  excellent  'ealth,  I 
thank  you,"  said  the  other,  taking  the  proffered 
chair.  "Oh!  what  a  man  he  is;  what  a 
instrument  for  good.  Always  stretching  out 
them  blessed  hands  of  'is  to  make  one  of  the 
fallen  a  Seventh  Day  Primitive." 
196 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"And  success  attends  his  efforts?"  said  the 
jeweller. 

"  Success,  Brother !  "  repeated  Mr.  Burge, 
eating  rapidly  and  gesticulating  with  his  knife. 
*'  Success  ain't  no  name  for  it.  Why,  since 
this  day  last  week  he  has  saved  three  pick- 
pockets, two  Salvationists,  one  bigamist  and  a 
Roman  Catholic." 

Brother  Higgs  murmured  his  admiration. 
"  You  are  also  a  power  for  good,"  he  said  wist- 
fully. *'  Brother  Clark  tells  me  in  his  letter 
that  your  exhortations  have  been  abundantly 
blessed." 

Mr.  Burge  shook  his  head.  "  A  lot  of  it 
falls  by  the  wayside,"  he  said  modestly,  "  but 
some  of  it  is  an  eye-opener  to  them  as  don't 
entirely  shut  their  ears.  Only  the  day  before 
yesterday  I  'ad  two  jemmies  and  a  dark  lantern 
sent  me  with  a  letter  saying  as  'ow  the  owner 
had  no  further  use  for  'em." 

The  jeweller's  eyes  glistened  with  admiration 
not  quite  untinged  with  envy.  "  Have  you 
expounded  the  Word  for  long?"  he  inquired. 

"  Six  months,"  replied  the  other.  "  It 
197 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

come  to  me  quite  natural — I  was  on  the 
penitent  bench  on  the  Saturday,  and  the 
Wednesday  afterwards  I  preached  as  good  a 
sermon  as  ever  I've  preached  in  my  life. 
Brother  Clark  said  it  took  'is  breath 
away." 

"  And  he's  a  judge  too,"  said  the  admiring 
jeweller. 

"  Now,"  continued  Brother  Burge,  helping 
himself  plentifully  to  pickled  walnuts.  "  Now 
there  ain't  standing  room  in  our  Bethel  when 
I'm  expounding.  People  come  to  hear  me 
from  all  parts — old  and  young — rich  and  poor 
— and  the  Apostles  that  don't  come  early  'ave 
to  stand  outside  and  catch  the  crumbs  I  throw 
'em  through  the  winders." 

"  It  is  enough,"  sighed  Brother  Higgs, 
whose  own  audience  was  frequently  content  to 
be  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  window,  "  it  is 
enough  to  make  a  man  vain." 

"  I  struggle  against  it.  Brother,"  said  Mr. 

Burge,  passing  his  cup  up  for  some  more  tea. 

"  I  fight  against  it  hard,  but  once  the  Evil  One 

was  almost  too  much  for  me;  and  in  spite  of 

198 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

myself,  and  knowing  besides  that  It  was  a  plot 
of  'is,  I  nearly  felt  uplifted." 

Brother  Higgs,  passing  him  some  more  beef, 
pressed  for  details. 

"  He  sent  me  two  policemen,"  replied  the 
other,  scowling  darkly  at  the  meanness  of  the 
trick.  "  One  I  might  'ave  stood,  but  two 
come  to  being  pretty  near  too  much  for  me. 
They  sat  under  me  while  I  gave  'em  the  Word 
'ot  and  strong,  and  the  feeling  I  had  standing 
up  there  and  telling  policemen  what  they  ought 
to  do  I  shall  never  forget." 

"  But  why  should  policemen  make  you 
proud?  "  asked  his  puzzled  listener. 

Mr.  Burge  looked  puzzled  In  his  turn. 
"  Why,  hasn't  Brother  Clark  told  you  about 
me?  "  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Higgs  shook  his  head.  "  He  sort  of — 
suggested  that — that  you  had  been  a  little  bit 
wild  before  you  came  to  us,"  he  murmured 
apologetically. 

"A  —  little  —  bit  —  wild?"  repeated 
Brother  Burge,  In  horrified  accents.  "  Me  ? 
a  little  bit  wild!  " 

199 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"  No  doubt  he  exaggerated  a  little,"  said 
the  jeweller  hurriedly.  "  Being  such  a  good 
man  himself,  no  doubt  things  would  seem  wild 
to  him  that  wouldn't  to  us — to  me,  I  mean." 

"  A  little  bit  wild,"  said  his  visitor  again. 
"  Sam  Burge,  the  Converted  Burglar,  a  little 
hit  wild.    Well,  well!" 

"Converted  what?''^  shouted  the  jeweller, 
half-rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Burglar,"  said  the  other  shortly.  "  Why, 
I  should  think  I  know  more  about  the  inside 
o'  gaols  than  anybody  in  England;  I've  pretty 
near  killed  three  policemen,  besides  breaking  a 
gent's  leg  and  throwing  a  footman  out  of 
window,  and  then  Brother  Clark  goes  and  says 
I've  been  a  little  bit  wild.  I  wonder  what  he 
would  'ave?  " 

"But  you — ^you've  quite  reformed  now?" 
said  the  jeweller,  resuming  his  seat  and  making 
a  great  effort  to  hide  his  consternation. 

"  I  'ope  so,"  said  Mr.  Burge,  with  alarming 
humility;  "but  it's  an  uncertain  world,  and 
far  be  it  from  me  to  boast.  That's  why  I've 
come  here." 

200 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

Mr.  Higgs,  only  half-comprehending,  sat 
back  gasping. 

"  If  I  can  stand  this,"  pursued  Brother 
Burge,  gesticulating  wildly  in  the  direction  of 
the  shop,  '*  if  I  can  stand  being  here  with  all 
these  'ere  pretty  little  things  to  be  'ad  for  the 
trouble  of  picking  of  'em  up,  I  can  stand  any- 
thing. Tempt  me,  I  says  to  Brother  Clark. 
Put  me  in  the  way  o'  temptation,  I  says.  Let 
me  see  whether  the  Evil  One  or  me  is  the 
strongest;  let  me  'ave  a  good  old  up  and  down 
with  the  Powers  o'  Darkness,  and  see  who 
wins." 

Mr.  Higgs,  gripping  the  edge  of  the  table 
with  both  hands,  gazed  at  this  new  Michael  in 
speechless  consternation. 

"  I  think  I  see  his  face  now,"  said  Brother 
Burge,  with  tender  enthusiasm.  "  All  in  a 
glow  it  was,  and  he  patted  me  on  the  shoulder 
and  says,  *  I'll  send  you  on  a  week's  mission  to 
Duncombe,'  he  says,  and  '  you  shall  stop  with 
Brother  Higgs  who  'as  a  shop  full  o'  cunning 
wrought  vanities  in  silver  and  gold.'  " 

"  But   suppose,"    said   the   jeweller,    finding 

201 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

his  voice  by  a  great  effort,  "  suppose  victory  is 
not  given  unto  you." 

"  It  won't  make  any  difference,"  replied 
his  visitor.  "  Brother  Clark  promised  that  it 
shouldn't.  '  If  you  fall.  Brother,'  he  says, 
*  we'll  help  you  up  again.  When  you  are  tired 
of  sin  come  back  to  us — there's  always  a 
welcome.'  " 

"  But "  began  the  dismayed  jeweller. 

"  We  can  only  do  our  best,"  said  Brother 
Burge,  "  the  rest  we  must  leave.  I  'ave  girded 
my  loins  for  the  fray,  and  taken  much 
spiritual  sustenance  on  the  way  down  from  this 
little  hymn-book,'* 

Mr.  Higgs  paid  no  heed.  He  sat  marvelling 
over  the  fatuousness  of  Brother  Clark  and 
trying  to  think  of  ways  and  means  out  of  the 
dilemma  into  which  that  gentleman's  per- 
verted enthusiasm  had  placed  him.  He 
wondered  whether  it  would  be  possible  to 
induce  Brother  Burge  to  sleep  elsewhere  by 
offering  to  bear  his  hotel  expenses,  and  at  last, 
after  some  hesitation,  broached  the  subject. 

"What I"    exclaimed    the    other,    pushing 

202 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

his  plate  from  him  and  regarding  him  with 
great  severity.  "  Go  and  sleep  at  a  hotel? 
After  Brother  Clark  has  been  and  took  all  this 
trouble?  Why,  I  wouldn't  think  of  doing  such 
a  thing." 

"  Brother  Clark  has  no  right  to  expose  you 
to  such  a  trial,"  said  Mr.  Higgs  with  great 
warmth. 

"  I  wonder  what  he'd  say  if  he  'card  you," 
remarked  Mr.  Burge  sternly.  "  After  his  going 
and  making  all  these  arrangements,  for  you  to 
try  and  go  and  upset  'em.  To  ask  me  to  shun 
the  fight  like  a  coward;  to  ask  me  to  go  and 
hide  in  the  rear-ranks  in  a  hotel  with  everything 
locked  up,  or  a  Coffer  Pallis  with  nothing  to 
steal." 

"  I  should  sleep  far  more  comfortably  if  I 
knew  that  you  were  not  undergoing  this  tre- 
mendous strain,"  said  the  unhappy  Mr.  Higgs, 
"  and  besides  that,  if  you  did  give  way,  it  would 
be  a  serious  business  for  me — that's  what  I 
want  you  to  look  at.  I  am  afraid  that  if — 
if  unhappily  you  did  fall,  I  couldn't  prevent 
you." 

203 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"  I'm  sure  you  couldn't,"  said  the  other 
cordially.  "That's  the  beauty  of  it;  that's 
when  the  Evil  One's  whispers  get  louder  and 
louder.  Why,  I  could  choke  you  between  my 
finger  and  thumb.  If  unfortunately  my  fallen 
nature  should  be  too  strong  for  me,  don't  inter- 
fere whatever  you  do.     I  mightn't  be  myself." 

Mr.  Higgs  rose  and  faced  him  gasping. 
"  Not  even — call  for — the  police — I  suppose," 
he  jerked  out. 

"  That  would  be  interfering,"  said  Brother 
Burge  coldly. 

The  jeweller  tried  to  think.  It  was  past 
eleven.  The  housekeeper  had  gone  to  spend 
the  night  with  an  ailing  sister,  and  a  furtive 
glance  at  Brother  Burge's  small  shifty  eyes 
and  fat  unwholesome  face  was  sufficient  to  deter 
him  from  leaving  him  alone  with  his  property, 
while  he  went  to  ask  the  police  to  give  an  eye 
to  his  house  for  the  night.  Besides,  it  was 
more  than  probable  that  Mr.  Burge  would 
decline  to  allow  such  a  proceeding.  With  a 
growing  sense  of  his  peril  he  resolved  to  try 
flattery. 

204 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"  It  was  a  great  thing  for  the  Brethren  to 
secure  a  man  like  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  never  thought  they'd  ha'  done  it,"  said 
Mr.  Burge  frankly.  "  I've  'ad  all  sorts  trying 
to  convert  me;  crying  over  me  and  praying 
over  me.  I  remember  the  first  dear  good  man 
that  called  me  a  lorst  lamb.  He  didn't  say 
anything  else  for  a  month." 

"  So  upset,"  hazarded  the  jeweller. 

"  I  broke  his  jor,  pore  feller,"  said  Brother 
Burge,  a  sad  but  withal  indulgent  smile  lighting 
up  his  face  at  the  vagaries  of  his  former  career. 
"  What  time  do  you  go  to  bed.  Brother?  " 

"  Any  time,"  said  the  other  reluctantly.  "  I 
suppose  you  are  tired  with  your  journey?  " 

Mr.  Burge  assented,  and  rising  from  his 
chair  yawned  loudly  and  stretched  himself. 
In  the  small  room  with  his  huge  arms  raised  he 
looked  colossal. 

*'  I  suppose,"  said  the  jeweller,  still  seeking 
to  re-assure  himself,  "  I  suppose  dear  Brother 
Clark  felt  pretty  certain  of  you,  else  he  wouldn't 
have  sent  you  here?  " 

"  Brother  Clark  said  '  What  is  a  jeweller's 
205 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

shop  compared  with  a  'uman  soul,  a  priceless 
'uman  soul?'"  replied  Mr.  Burge.  "What 
is  a  few  gew-gaws  to  decorate  them  that  perish, 
and  make  them  vain,  when  you  come  to  con- 
sider the  opportunity  of  such  a  trial,  and  the 
good  it'll  do  and  the  draw  it'll  be — if  I  do 
win — and  testify  to  the  congregation  to  that 
effect?  Why,  there's  sermons  for  a  lifetime  in 
it." 

"  So  there  is,"  said  the  jeweller,  trying  to 
look  cheerful.  "  You've  got  a  good  face. 
Brother  Burge,  and  you'll  do  a  lot  of  good  by 
your  preaching.  There  is  honesty  written  in 
every  feature." 

Mr.  Burge  turned  and  surveyed  himself  in 
the  small  pier-glass.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  somewhat 
discontentedly,  "  I  don't  look  enough  like  a 
burglar  to  suit  some  of  'em." 

"  Some  people  are  hard  to  please,"  said  the 
other  warmly. 

Mr.  Burge  started  and  eyed  him  thought- 
fully, and  then  as  Mr.  Higgs  after  some  hesita- 
tion walked  into  the  shop  to  turn  the  gas  out, 
stood  in  the  doorway  watching  him.  A 
206 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

smothered  sigh  as  he  glanced  round  the  shop 
bore  witness  to  the  state  of  his  feehngs. 

The  jeweller  hesitated  again  in  the  parlour, 
and  then  handing  Brother  Burge  his  candle 
turned  out  the  gas,  and  led  the  way  slowly 
upstairs  to  the  room  which  had  been  prepared 
for  the  honoured  visitor.  He  shook  hands  at 
the  door  and  bade  him  an  effusive  good-night, 
his  voice  trembling  despite  himself  as  he 
expressed  a  hope  that  Mr.  Burge  would  sleep 
well.  He  added  casually  that  he  himself  was 
a  very  light  sleeper. 

To-night  sleep  of  any  kind  was  impossible. 
He  had  given  up  the  front  room  to  his  guest, 
and  his  own  window  looked  out  on  an  over- 
grown garden.  He  sat  trying  to  read,  with 
his  ears  alert  for  the  slightest  sound.  Brother 
Burge  seemed  to  be  a  long  time  undressing. 
For  half  an  hour  after  he  had  retired  he  could 
hear  him  moving  restlessly  about  his  room. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck  from  the  tower  of  the 
parish  church,  and  was  followed  almost  directly 
by  the  tall  clock   standing  in   the   hall   down- 
stairs.     Scarcely   had   the   sounds    died    away 
207 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

than  a  low  moaning  from  the  next  room 
caused  the  affrighted  jeweller  to  start  from  his 
chair  and  place  his  ear  against  the  wall.  Two 
or  three  hollow  groans  came  through  the 
plaster,  followed  by  ejaculations  which  showed 
clearly  that  Brother  Burge  was  at  that  moment 
engaged  in  a  terrified  combat  with  the  Powers 
of  Darkness  to  decide  whether  he  should,  or 
should  not,  rifle  his  host's  shop.  His  hands 
clenched  and  his  ear  pressed  close  to  the  wall, 
the  jeweller  listened  to  a  monologue  which 
increased  in  interest  with  every  word. 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't,"  said  the  voice  in  the 
next  room  with  a  groan,  "  I  won't.  Get  thee 
behind  me — Get  thee — No,  and  don't  shove 
me  over  to  the  door;  if  you  can't  get  behind 
me  without  doing  that,  stay  where  you  are. 
Yes,  I  know  it's  a  fortune  as  well  as  what  you 
do;  but  it  ain't  miney 

The  listener  caught  his  breath  painfully. 

"  Diamond  rings,"  continued  Brother  Burge 
in  a  suffocating  voice.  "  Stop  it,  I  tell  you. 
No,  I  won't  just  go  and  look  at  'em." 

A  series  of  groans  which  the  jeweller  noticed 
208 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

to  his  horror  got  weaker  and  weaker  testified 
to  the  greatness  of  the  temptation.  He  heard 
Brother  Burge  rise,  and  then  a  succession  of 
panting  snarls  seemed  to  indicate  a  fierce 
bodily  encounter. 

"  I  don't — want  to  look  at  'em,"  said 
Brother  Burge  in  an  exhausted  voice.  "  What's 
— the  good  of — looking  at  'em?  It's  like 
you,  you  know  diamonds  are  my  weakness. 
What  does  it  matter  if  he  is  asleep?  What's 
my  knife  got  to  do  with  you?" 

Brother  Higgs  reeled  back  and  a  mist  passed 
before  his  eyes.  He  came  to  himself  at  the 
sound  of  a  door  opening,  and  impelled  with  a 
vague  idea  of  defending  his  property,  snatched 
up  his  candle  and  looked  out  on  to  the  landing. 

The  light  fell  on  Brother  Burge,  fully 
dressed  and  holding  his  boots  in  his  hand. 
For  a  moment  they  gazed  at  each  other  In 
silence;  then  the  jeweller  found  his  voice. 

"  I  thought  you  were  ill,  Brother,"  he 
faltered. 

An  ugly  scowl  lit  up  the  other's  features. 
"  Don't  you  tell  me  any  of  your  lies,"  he  said 
2og 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

fiercely.  "You're  watching  me;  that's  what 
you're  doing.     Spying  on  me." 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  being  tempted," 
confessed  the  trembling  Mr.  Higgs. 

An  expression  of  satisfaction  which  he  strove 
to  suppress  appeared  on  Mr.  Burge's  face. 

"So  I  was,"  he  said  sternly.  "So  I  was; 
but  that's  my  business.  I  don't  want  your 
assistance;  I  can  fight  my  own  battles. 
You  go  to  bed — I'm  going  to  tell  the  congre- 
gation I  won  the  fight  single-'anded." 

"So  you  have,  Brother,"  said  the  other 
eagerly;  "but  it's  doing  me  good  to  see  it. 
It's  a  lesson  to  me;  a  lesson  to  all  of  us  the 
way  you  wrestled." 

"  I  thought  you  was  asleep,"  growled 
Brother  Burge,  turning  back  to  his  room  and 
speaking  over  his  shoulder.  "  You  get  back 
to  bed;  the  fight  ain't  half  over  yet.  Get 
back  to  bed  and  keep  quiet." 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  Mr.  Higgs, 
still  trembling,  regained  his  room  and  looked 
In  agony  at  the  clock.  It  was  only  half-past 
twelve  and  the  sun  did  not  rise  until  six.     He 

2IO 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

sat  and  shivered  until  a  second  instalment  of 
groans  in  the  next  room  brought  him  in 
desperation  to  his  feet. 

Brother  Burge  was  in  the  toils  again,  and 
the  jeweller  despite  his  fears  could  not  help 
realizing  what  a  sensation  the  story  of  his 
temptation  would  create.  Brother  Burge  was 
now  going  round  and  round  his  room  like  an 
animal  in  a  cage,  and  sounds  as  of  a  soul 
wrought  almost  beyond  endurance  smote  upon 
the  listener's  quivering  ear.  Then  there  was  a 
long  silence  more  alarming  even  than  the 
noise  of  the  conflict.  Had  Brother  Burge  won, 
and   was   he   now   sleeping   the   sleep   of   the 

righteous,  or Mr.  Higgs  shivered  and  put 

his  other  ear  to  the  wall.  Then  he  heard  his 
guest  move  stealthily  across  the  floor;  the 
boards  creaked  and  the  handle  of  the  door 
turned. 

Mr.  Higgs  started,  and  with  a  sudden  flash 
of  courage  born  of  anger  and  desperation 
seized  a  small  brass  poker  from  the  fire-place, 
and  taking  the  candle  in  his  other  hand  went 
out  on  to  the  landing  again.     Brother  Burge 

211 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

was  closing  his  door  softly,  and  his  face  when 
he  turned  it  upon  the  jeweller  was  terrible  in 
its  wrath.  His  small  eyes  snapped  with  fury, 
and  his  huge  hands  opened  and  shut  con- 
vulsively. 

"  What,  agin  I  "  he  said  in  a  low  growl. 
"After  all  I  told  you!" 

Mr.  Higgs  backed  slowly  as  he  advanced. 

"  No  noise,"  said  Mr.  Burge  in  a  dreadful 

whisper.    "  One  scream  and  I'll What  were 

you  going  to  do  with  that  poker?  " 

He  took  a  stealthy  step  forward. 

"  I — I,"  began  the  jeweller.  His  voice  failed 
him.     "  Burglars,"  he  mouthed,  "  downstairs." 

^^Whatl^^  said  the  other,  pausing. 

Mr.  Higgs  threw  truth  to  the  winds.  "  I 
heard  them  in  the  shop,"  he  said,  recovering, 
"  that's  why  I  took  up  the  poker.  Can't  you 
hear  them?  " 

Mr.  Burge  listened  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second.     "  Nonsense,"  he  said  huskily. 

"  I  heard  them  talking,"  said  the  other 
recklessly.  "  Let's  go  down  and  call  the 
police." 

212 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"  Call  'em  from  the  winder,"  said  Brother 
Burge,  backing  with  some  haste,  "  they  might 
'ave  pistols  or  something,  and  they're  ugly 
customers  when  they're  disturbed." 

He  stood  with  strained  face  listening. 

"  Here  they  come,"  whispered  the  jeweller 
with  a  sudden  movement  of  alarm. 

Brother  Burge  turned,  and  bolting  into  his 
room  clapped  the  door  to  and  locked  it.  The 
jeweller  stood  dumbfounded  on  the  landing; 
then  he  heard  the  window  go  up  and  the  voice 
of  Brother  Burge,  much  strengthened  by  the 
religious  exercises  of  the  past  six  months, 
bellowing  lustily  for  the  police. 

For  a  few  seconds  Mr.  Higgs  stood  listening 
and  wondering  what  explanation  he  should 
give.  Still  thinking,  he  ran  downstairs,  and, 
throwing  open  the  pantry  window,  unlocked 
the  door  leading  into  the  shop  and  scattered  a 
few  of  his  cherished  possessions  about  the  floor. 
By  the  time  he  had  done  this,  people  were 
already  beating  upon  the  street-door  and 
exchanging  hurried  remarks  with  Mr.  Burge 
at  the  window  above.  The  jeweller  shot  back 
213 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

the  bolts,  and  half-a-dozen  neighbours,  headed 
by  the  butcher  opposite,  clad  in  his  nightgown 
and  armed  with  a  cleaver,  burst  Into  the 
passage.  A  constable  came  running  up  just  as 
the  pallid  face  of  Brother  Burge  peered  over 
the  balusters.  The  constable  went  upstairs 
three  at  a  time,  and  twisting  his  hand  In  the  ex- 
burglar's  neck-cloth  bore  him  backwards. 

"  I've  got  one,"  he  shouted.  "  Come  up 
and  hold  him  while  I  look  round." 

The  butcher  was  beside  him  in  a  moment; 
Brother  Burge  struggling  wildly,  called  loudly 
upon  the  name  of  Brother  Higgs. 

"  That's  all  right,  constable,"  said  the  latter, 
"  that's  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Friend  o'  yours,  sir? "  said  the  disap- 
pointed officer,  still  holding  him. 

The  jeweller  nodded.  "  Mr.  Samuel  Burge 
the  Converted  Burglar,"  he  said  mechanically. 

"  Conver "      gasped      the      astonished 

constable.     "  Converted  burglar?     Here!" 

"  He  Is  a  preacher  now,"  added  Mr.  Higgs. 

"  Preacher?  "  retorted  the  constable.  "  Why 
it's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  Confederates: 
214 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

his    part    was     to     go     down     and    let     'em 
in." 

Mr.  Burge  raised  a  piteous  outcry.  "  I  hope 
you  may  be  forgiven  for  them  words,"  he  cried 
piously. 

"  What  time  did  you  go  up  to  bed? " 
pursued  the  constable. 

"  About  half-past  eleven,"  replied  Mr.  Higgs. 

The  other  grunted  with  satisfaction.  "  And 
he's  fully  dressed,  with  his  boots  off,"  he 
remarked.  "  Did  you  hear  him  go  out  of  his 
room  at  all?  " 

"  He  did  go  out,"  said  the  jeweller  truth- 
fully, "but " 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  constable,  turning 
to  his  prisoner  with  affectionate  solicitude. 
"  Now  you  come  along  o'  me.  Come  quietly, 
because  it'll  be  the  best  for  you  In  the  end." 

"  You  won't  get  your  skull  split  open  then," 
added  the  butcher,  toying  with  his  cleaver. 

The  jeweller  hesitated.  He  had  no  desire 
to  be  left  alone  with  Mr.  Burge  again;  and  a 
sense  of  humour,  which  many  years'  association 
with  the  Primitive  Apostles  had  not  quite 
eradicated,  strove  for  hearing. 
21. q 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

"  Think  of  the  sermon  it'll  make,"  he  said 
encouragingly  to  the  frantic  Mr.  Burge,  "  think 
of  the  congregation  I  " 

Brother  Burge  replied  in  language  which  he 
had  not  used  in  public  since  he  had  joined  the 
Apostles.  The  butcher  and  another  man 
stood  guard  over  him  while  the  constable 
searched  the  premises  and  made  all  secure 
again.  Then  with  a  final  appeal  to  Mr.  Higgs 
who  was  keeping  in  the  background,  he  was 
pitched  to  the  police-station  by  the  energetic 
constable  and  five  zealous  assistants. 

A  diffidence,  natural  in  the  circumstances, 
prevented  him  from  narrating  the  story  of  his 
temptation  to  the  magistrates  next  morning, 
and  Mr.  Higgs  was  equally  reticent.  He  was 
put  back  while  the  police  communicated  with 
London,  and  in  the  meantime  Brother  Clark 
and  a  band  of  Apostles  flanked  down  to  his 
support. 

On  his  second  appearance  before  the  magis- 
trates he  was  confronted  with  his  past;  and 
his  past  to  the  great  astonishment  of  the 
Brethren  being  free  from  all  blemish  with  the 
216 


The  Temptation  of  Burge 

solitary  exception  of  fourteen  days  for  stealing 
milk-cans,  he  was  discharged  with  a  caution. 
The  disillusioned  Primitive  Apostles  also  gave 
him  his  freedom. 


217 


THE    MADNESS 
OF  MR.  LISTER 


The  Madness  of  Mr.  Lister 

OLD  JEM  LISTER,  of  the  Susannah,  was 
possessed  of  two  devils — the  love  of 
strong  drink  and  avarice — and  the  only  thing 
the  twain  had  in  common  was  to  get  a  drink 
without  paying  for  it.  When  Mr.  Lister  paid 
for  a  drink,  the  demon  of  avarice  masquerading 
as  conscience  preached  a  teetotal  lecture,  and 
when  he  showed  signs  of  profiting  by  it,  the 
demon  of  drink  would  send  him  hanging  round 
public-house  doors  cadging  for  drinks  in  a  way 
which  his  shipmates  regarded  as  a  slur  upon 
the  entire  ship's  company.  Many  a  healthy 
thirst  reared  on  salt  beef  and  tickled  with  strong 
tobacco  had  been  spoiled  by  the  sight  of  Mr. 
Lister  standing  by  the  entrance,  with  a  pro- 
pitiatory smile,  waiting  to  be  invited  in  to  share 
it,  and  on  one  occasion  they  had  even  seen  him 

221 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

(him,  Jem  Lister,  A.B.)  holding  a  horse's  head» 
with  ulterior  motives. 

It  was  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Lister  at  last  that 
his  conduct  was  reflecting  discredit  upon  men 
who  were  fully  able  to  look  after  themselves 
in  that  direction,  without  having  any  addi- 
tional burden  thrust  upon  them.  Bill  Henshaw 
was  the  spokesman,  and  on  the  score  of  violence 
(miscalled  firmness)  his  remarks  left  little  to 
be  desired.  On  the  score  of  profanity,  Bill 
might  recall  with  pride  that  in  the  opinion  of 
his  fellows  he  had  left  nothing  unsaid. 

"  You  ought  to  ha'  been  a  member  o' 
Parliament,  Bill,"  said  Harry  Lea,  when  he 
had  finished. 

"  It  wants  money,"  said  Henshaw,  shaking 
his  head. 

Mr.  Lister  laughed,  a  senile  laugh,  but  not 
lacking  in  venom. 

"  That's  what  we've  got  to  say,"  said  Hen- 
shaw, turning  upon  him  suddenly.  "  If  there's 
anything  I  hate  in  this  world,  it's  a  drinking 
miser.  You  know  our  opinion,  and  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  now.'* 

222 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

"  Take  us  all  in  to  the  Goat  and  Compasses" 
urged  Lea;  "bring  out  some  o'  those  sovrins 
you've  been  hoarding." 

Mr.  Lister  gazed  at  him  with  frigid  scorn, 
and  finding  that  the  conversation  still  seemed 
to  centre  round  his  unworthy  person,  went 
up  on  deck  and  sat  glowering  over  the  insults 
which  had  been  heaped  upon  him.  His  futile 
wrath  when  Bill  dogged  his  footsteps  ashore 
next  day  and  revealed  his  character  to  a  bibu- 
lous individual  whom  he  had  almost  persuaded 
to  be  a  Christian — from  his  point  of  view — 
bordered  upon  the  maudlin,  and  he  wandered 
back  to  the  ship,  wild-eyed  and  dry  of 
throat. 

For  the  next  two  months  It  was  safe  to  say 
that  every  drink  he  had  he  paid  for.  His  eyes 
got  brighter  and  his  complexion  clearer,  nor 
was  he  as  pleased  as  one  of  the  other  sex  might 
have  been  when  the  self-satisfied  Henshaw 
pointed  out  these  improvements  to  his  com- 
panions, and  claimed  entire  responsibility  for 
them.  It  is  probable  that  Mr.  Lister,  under 
these  circumstances,  might  in  time  have  lived 
223 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

down  his  taste  for  strong  drink,  but  that  at  just 
that  time  they  shipped  a  new  cook. 

He  was  a  big,  cadaverous  young  fellow,  who 
looked  too  closely  after  his  own  interests  to 
be  much  of  a  favourite  with  the  other  men 
forward.  On  the  score  of  thrift,  it  was  soon 
discovered  that  he  and  Mr.  Lister  had  much 
in  common,  and  the  latter,  pleased  to  find  a 
congenial  spirit,  was  disposed  to  make  the  most 
of  him,  and  spent,  despite  the  heat,  much  of 
his  spare  time  in  the  galley. 

"  You  keep  to  it,"  said  the  greybeard  impress- 
ively; "money  was  made  to  be  took  care  of; 
if  you  don't  spend  your  money  you've  always 
got  it.  I've  always  been  a  saving  man — ^what's 
the  result?" 

The  cook,  waiting  some  time  in  patience  to 
be  told,  gently  Inquired  what  it  was. 

"  'Ere  am  I,"  said  Mr.  Lister,  good-naturedly 
helping  him  to  cut  a  cabbage,  "  at  the  age  of 
sixty-two  with  a  bank-book  down  below  in 
my  chest,  with  one  hundered  an'  ninety  pounds 
odd  in  it." 

"One    'undered   and   ninety   pounds  I"    re- 
peated the  cook,  with  awe. 
224 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

"  To  say  nothing  of  other  things,"  continued 
Mr,  Lister,  with  joyful  appreciation  of  the 
effect  he  was  producing.  "  Altogether  I've  got 
a  little  over  four  'undered  pounds." 

The  cook  gasped,  and  with  gentle  firmness 
took  the  cabbage  from  him  as  being  unfit  work 
for  a  man  of  such  wealth.  '" 

"  It's  very  nice,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  It's 
very  nice.  You'll  be  able  to  live  on  it  in  your 
old  age." 

Mr.  Lister  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and 
his  eyes  became  humid. 

"  There's  no  old  age  for  me,"  he  said,  sadly; 
"  but  you  needn't  tell  them,"  and  he  jerked 
his  thumb  towards  the  forecastle. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  cook. 

"  I've  never  been  one  to  talk  over  my  affairs,*' 
said  Mr.  Lister,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I've  never 
yet  took  fancy  enough  to  anybody  so  to  do. 
No,  my  lad,  I'm  saving  up  for  somebody 
else." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  live  on  when  youVe 
past  work  then?"  demanded  the  other. 

Mr.  Lister  took  him  gently  by  the  sleeve, 
225 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

and  his  voice  sank  with  the  solemnity  of  his 
subject:  "  I'm  not  going  to  have  no  old  age," 
he  said,  resignedly. 

"Not  going  to  live!"  repeated  the  cook, 
gazing  uneasily  at  a  knife  by  his  side.  "  How 
do  you  know?  " 

"  I  went  to  a  orsepittle  in  London,"  said 
Mr.  Lister.  "  I've  been  to  two  or  three  alto- 
gether, while  the  money  I've  spent  on  doctors 
is  more  than  I  like  to  think  of,  and  they're  all 
surprised  to  think  that  I've  lived  so  long.  I'm 
so  chock-full  o'  complaints,  that  they  tell  me 
I  can't  live  more  than  two  years,  and  I  might 
go  off  at  any  moment." 

"  Well,  you've  got  money,"  said  the  cook, 
"  why  don't  you  knock  off  work  now  and  spend 
the  evenin'  of  your  life  ashore?  Why  should 
you  save  up  for  your  relatives?  " 

"  I've  got  no  relatives,"  said  Mr.  Lister; 
"  I'm  all  alone.  I  'spose  I  shall  leave  my 
money  to  some  nice  young  feller,  and  I  hope 
it'll  do  'im  good." 

With  the  dazzling  thoughts  which  flashed 
through  the  cook's  brain  the  cabbage  dropped 
226 


The  Madness  of  Mr.  Lister 

violently  into  the  saucepan,  and  a  shower  of 
cooling  drops  fell  on  both  men. 

"I  'spose  you  take  medicine?"  he  said,  at 
length. 

"A  little  rum,"  said  Mr.  Lister,  faintly; 
"  the  doctors  tell  me  that  it  is  the  only  thing 
that  keeps  me  up — o'  course,  the  chaps  down 
there " — he  indicated  the  forecastle  again 
with  a  jerk  of  his  head — "  accuse  me  o'  taking 
too  much." 

"What  do  ye  take  any  notice  of  'em  for?** 
inquired  the  other,  indignantly. 

"  I  'spose  it  is  foolish,"  admitted  Mr.  Lister; 
*'  but  I  don't  like  being  misunderstood.  I 
keep  my  troubles  to  myself  as  a  rule,  cook.  I 
don't  know  what's  made  me  talk  to  you  like 
this.  I  'card  the  other  day  you  was  keeping 
company  with  a  young  woman." 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  as  I  ain't,"  replied  the 
other,  busying  himself  over  the  fire. 

"  An'  the  best  thing,  too,  my  lad,"  said  the 
old  man,  warmly.     "  It  keeps  you  stiddy,  keeps 
you  out  of  public-'ouses;  not  as  they  ain't  good 
in  moderation — I  'ope  you'll  be  'appy." 
227 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

The  cook  thanked  him,  and  noticed  that  Mr. 
Lister  was  fidgeting  with  a  piece  of  paper. 

"  A  little  something  I  wrote  the  other  day," 
said  the  old  man,  catching  his  eye.  "  If  I  let 
you  see  it,  will  you  promise  not  to  tell  a  soul 
about  it,  and  not  to  give  me  no  thanks?  " 

The  wondering  cook  promised,  and,  the  old 
man  being  somewhat  emphatic  on  the  subject, 
backed  his  promise  with  a  home  made  affidavit 
of  singular  power  and  profanity. 

"  Here  it  is,  then,"  said  Mr.  Lister. 

The  cook  took  the  paper,  and  as  he  read  the 
letters  danced  before  him.  He  blinked  his 
eyes  and  started  again,  slowly.  In  plain  black 
and  white  and  nondescript-coloured  finger- 
marks, Mr.  Lister,  after  a  general  statement 
as  to  his  bodily  and  mental  health,  left  the 
whole  of  his  estate  to  the  cook.  The  will 
was  properly  dated  and  witnessed,  and  the 
cook's  voice  shook  with  excitement  and  emotion 
as  he  offered  to  hand  it  back. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I've  done  for  you  to  do 
this,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Lister  waved  it  away  again.  "  Keep 
228 


A  friendship  sprang  up  between  the  two  men  which  puzzled  the  remainder 
of  the  crew  not  a  little. 


The  Madness  of  Mr.  Lister 

it,"  he  said,  simply;  "while  you've  got  it  on 
you,  you'll  know  it's  safe." 

From  this  moment  a  friendship  sprang  up 
between  the  two  men  which  puzzled  the  re- 
mainder of  the  crew  not  a  little.  The  attitude 
of  the  cook  was  as  that  of  a  son  to  a  father: 
the  benignancy  of  Mr.  Lister  beautiful  to 
behold.  It  was  noticed,  too,  that  he  had 
abandoned  the  reprehensible  practice  of  hang- 
ing round  tavern  doors  in  favour  of  going 
inside  and  drinking  the  cook's  health. 

For  about  six  months  the  cook,  although 
always  in  somewhat  straitened  circumstances, 
was  well  content  with  the  tacit  bargain,  and 
then,  bit  by  bit,  the  character  of  Mr.  Lister 
was  revealed  to  him.  It  was  not  a  nice  char- 
acter, but  subtle;  and  when  he  made  the  start- 
ling discovery  that  a  will  could  be  rendered 
invalid  by  the  simple  process  of  making  another 
one  the  next  day,  he  became  as  a  man  possessed. 
When  he  ascertained  that  Mr.  Lister  when  at 
home  had  free  quarters  at  the  house  of  a 
married  niece,  he  used  to  sit  about  alone,  and 
try  and  think  of  ways  and  means  of  securing 
229 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

capital  sunk  in  a  concern  which  seemed  to  show 
no  signs  of  being  wound-up. 

"  I've  got  a  touch  of  the  'art  again,  lad," 
said  the  elderly  invalid,  as  they  sat  alone  in  the 
forecastle  one  night  at  Seacole. 

"  You  move  about  too  much,"  said  the  cook. 
"  Why  not  turn  in  and  rest?  " 

Mr.  Lister,  who  had  not  expected  this, 
fidgeted.  "  I  think  I'll  go  ashore  a  bit  and 
try  the  air,"  he  said,  suggestively.  "  I'll  just 
go  as  far  as  the  Black  Horse  and  back.  You 
won't  have  me  long  now,  my  lad." 

"No,  I  know,"  said  the  cook;  "that's 
what's  worrying  me  a  bit." 

"  Don't  worry  about  me,"  said  the  old  man, 
pausing  with  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder; 
"  I'm  not  worth  it.    Don't  look  so  glum,  lad." 

"  I've  got  something  on  my  mind,  Jem,"  said 
the  cook,  staring  straight  in  front  of  him. 

"  What  is  it?  "  inquired  Mr.  Lister. 

"  You  know  what  you  told  me  about  those 
pains  in  your  inside  ?  "  said  the  cook,  without 
looking  at  him. 

Jem  groaned  and  felt  his  side. 
230 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

"  And  what  you  said  about  its  being  a  relief 
to  die,"  continued  the  other,  "  only  you  was 
afraid  to  commit  suicide?  " 

"Well?"  said  Mr.  Lister. 

"  It  used  to  worry  me,"  continued  the  cook, 
earnestly.  "  I  used  to  say  to  myself,  '  Poor  old 
Jem,'  I  ses,  '  why  should  'e  suffer  like  this  when 
he  wants  to  die?     It  seemed  'ard.'  " 

"  It  is  'ard,"  said  Mr.  Lister,  "  but  what 
about  it?" 

The  other  made  no  reply,  but  looking  at 
him  for  the  first  time,  surveyed  him  with  a 
troubled  expression. 

"What  about  it?"  repeated  Mr.  Lister, 
with  some  emphasis. 

"  You    did   say   you   wanted   to    die,    didn't 

you?"    said   the   cook.      "Now   suppose 

suppose " 

"Suppose  what?"  inquired  the  old  man, 
sharply.  "  Why  don't  you  say  what  you're 
agoing  to  say?  " 

"  Suppose,"  said  the  cook,  "  some  one  what 
liked  you,  Jem — what  liked  you,  mind — 'eard 
you  say  this  over  and  over  again,  an*  see  you 
231 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

sufferin'  and  'card  you  groanin'  and  not  able 
to  do  nothin'  for  you  except  lend  you  a  few 
shillings  here  and  there  for  medicine,  or  stand 
you  a  few  glasses  o'  rum;  suppose  they  knew 
a  chap  in  a  chemist's  shop  ?  " 

"  Suppose  they  did?  "  said  the  other,  turn- 
ing pale. 

"  A  chap  what  knows  all  about  p'isons," 
continued  the  cook,  "  p'isons  what  a  man  can 
take  without  knowing  it  in  'is  grub.  Would 
it  be  wrong,  do  you  think,  if  that  friend  I  was 
speaking  about  put  it  in  your  food  to  put  you 
out  of  your  misery?  " 

"  Wrong,"  said  Mr.  Lister,  with  glassy  eyes. 
"  Wrong.    Look  'ere,  cook " 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  to  give  him  pain," 
said  the  other,  waving  his  hand;  "you  ain't 
felt  no  pain  lately,  'ave  you,  Jem?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say "  shouted  Mr. 

Lister. 

"  I  don*t  mean  to  say  anything,"  said  the 
cook.  "  Answer  my  question.  You  ain't  felt 
no  pain  lately,  'ave  you?" 

"Have — you — been — putting — p'ison — in 
232 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

— my — wittles? "    demanded    Mr.    Lister,    in 
trembling  accents. 

"  If  I  'ad,  Jem,  supposin'  that  I  *ad,"  said 
the  cook,  in  accents  of  reproachful  surprise, 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you'd  mind?  " 

"  Mind/'  said  Mr.  Lister,  with  fervour. 
"I'd  'ave  you  'ung!" 

"  But  you  said  you  wanted  to  die,"  said  the 
surprised  cook. 

Mr.  Lister  swore  at  him  with  startling  vig- 
our.    "  I'll  'ave  you  'ung,"  he  repeated,  wildly. 

"  Me,"  said  the  cook,  artlessly.  "  What 
for?" 

"  For  giving  me  p'ison,"  said  Mr.  Lister, 
frantically.  "  Do  you  think  you  can  deceive 
me  by  your  roundabouts?  Do  you  think  I 
can't  see  through  you?  " 

The  other  with  a  sphinx-like  smile  sat  un- 
moved. "  Prove  it,"  he  said,  darkly.  "  But 
supposin'  if  anybody  *ad  been  givin'  you  p'ison, 
would  you  like  to  take  something  to  prevent 
its  acting?  " 

"  I'd  take  gallons  of  It,"  said  Mr.  Lister, 
feverishly. 

233 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

The  other  sat  pondering,  while  the  old  man 
watched  him  anxiously.  "  It's  a  pity  you  don't 
know  your  own  mind,  Jem,"  he  said,  at  length; 
"  still,  you  know  your  own  business  best.  But 
it's  very  expensive  stuff." 

"How  much?"  inquired  the  other. 

"  Well,  they  won't  sell  more  than  two 
shillingsworth  at  a  time,"  said  the  cook,  trying 
to  speak  carelessly,  "  but  if  you  like  to  let  me 
'ave  the  money,  I'll  go  ashore  to  the  chemist's 
and  get  the  first  lot  now." 

Mr.  Lister's  face  was  a  study  in  emotions, 
which  the  other  tried  in  vain  to  decipher. 

Then  he  slowly  extracted  the  amount  from 
his  trousers-pocket,  and  handed  it  over  with- 
out a  word. 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  said  the  cook,  with  a  little 
feeling,  "  and  I'll  never  take  a  man  at  his  word 
again,  Jem." 

He  ran  blithely  up  on  deck,  and  stepping 
ashore,  spat  on  the  coins  for  luck  and  dropped 
them  in  his  pocket.  Down  below,  Mr.  Lister, 
with  his  chin  in  his  hand,  sat  In  a  state  of  mind 
pretty  evenly  divided  between  rage  and  fear. 
234 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

The  cook,  who  was  In  no  mood  for  company, 
missed  the  rest  of  the  crew  by  two  public- 
houses,  and  having  purchased  a  baby's  teething 
powder  and  removed  the  label,  had  a  congratu- 
latory drink  or  two  before  going  on  board 
again.  A  chatter  of  voices  from  the  forecastle 
warned  him  that  the  crew  had  returned,  but 
the  tongues  ceased  abruptly  as  he  descended, 
and  three  pairs  of  eyes  surveyed  him  in  grim 
silence. 

"  What's  up?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Wot  'ave  you  been  doln'  to  poor  old 
Jem  ?  "  demanded  Henshaw,  sternly. 

"  Nothin',"  said  the  other,  shortly. 

"You  ain't  been  p'isoning  'im?"  demanded 
Henshaw. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  cook,  emphati- 
cally. 

"  He  ses  you  told  'im  you  p'isoned  'im,'* 
said  Henshaw,  solemnly,  "  and  'e  give  you 
two  shillings  to  get  something  to  cure  'im. 
It's  too  late  now." 

"  What?  "  stammered  the  bewildered  cook. 

He  looked  round  anxiously  at  the  men. 
235 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

They  were  all  very  grave,  and  the  silence 
became  oppressive. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  he  demanded. 

Henshaw  and  the  others  exchanged  glances. 

"  He's  gone  mad,"  said  he,  slowly. 

"Mad?"  repeated  the  horrified  cook,  and, 
seeing  the  aversion  of  the  crew,  in  a  broken 
voice  he  narrated  the  way  in  which  he  had 
been  victimized. 

"  Well,  you've  done  it  now,"  said  Henshaw, 
when  he  had  finished.  "  He's  gone  right  orf 
Ms  'ed." 

"Where  is  he?"  inquired  the  cook. 

"  Where  you  can't  follow  him,"  said  the 
other,  slowly. 

"  Heaven?  "  hazarded  the  unfortunate  cook. 

"No;  skipper's  bunk,"  said  Lea. 

"Oh,  can't  I  foller  'im?"  said  the  cook, 
starting  up.  "  I'll  soon  'ave  'im  out  o' 
that." 

"  Better   leave   'im   alone,"   said  Henshaw. 

"  He  was  that  wild  we  couldn't  do  nothing 

with   'im,   singing   an'    larfin'    and   crying   all 

together — I  certainly  thought  he  was  p'isoned." 

236 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

"  I'll  swear  I  ain't  touched  him,"  said  the 
cook. 

*'  Well,  you've  upset  his  reason,"  said  Hen- 
shaw;  "there'll  be  an  awful  row  when  the 
skipper  comes  aboard  and  finds  'im  in  'is 
bed." 

"  Well,  come  an'  'elp  me  to  get  'im  out," 
said  the  cook. 

"  I  ain't  going  to  be  mixed  up  in  it,"  said 
Henshaw,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Don't  you.  Bill,"  said  the  other  two. 

*'  Wot  the  skipper'll  say  I  don't  know,"  said 
Henshaw;  "anyway,  it'll  be  said  to  you,  not 
us." 

"  I'll  go  and  get  'im  out  if  'e  was  five 
madmen,"  said  the  cook,  compressing  his 
lips. 

"  You'll  harve  to  carry  'im  out,  then,"  said 
Henshaw.  "  I  don't  wish  you  no  'arm,  cook, 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  get  'im  out 
afore  the  skipper  or  mate  comes  aboard.  If 
it  was  me,  I  know  what  I  should  do." 

"What?"  inquired  the  cook,  breath- 
lessly. 

237 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

"  Draw  a  sack  over  his  head,"  said  Henshaw, 
impressively;  "  he'll  scream  like  blazes  as  soon 
as  you  touch  him,  and  rouse  the  folks  ashore 
if  you  don't.  Besides  that,  if  you  draw  it  well 
down  it'll  keep  his  arms  fast." 

The  cook  thanked  him  fervently,  and  routing 
out  a  sack,  rushed  hastily  on  deck,  his  departure 
being  the  signal  for  Mr.  Henshaw  and  his 
friends  to  make  preparations  for  retiring  for 
the  night  so  hastily  as  almost  to  savour  of 
panic. 

The  cook,  after  a  hasty  glance  ashore,  went 
softly  below  with  the  sack  over  his  arm  and  felt 
his  way  in  the  darkness  to  the  skipper's  bunk. 
The  sound  of  deep  and  regular  breathing 
reassured  him,  and  without  undue  haste  he 
opened  the  mouth  of  the  sack  and  gently 
raised  the  sleeper's  head. 

"  Eh?     Wha "  began  a  sleepy  voice. 

The  next  moment  the  cook  had  bagged  him, 
and  gripping  him  tightly  round  the  middle, 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  smothered  cries  of  his 
victim  as  he  strove  to  lift  him  out  of  the  bunk. 
In  the  exciting  time  which  followed,  he  had 
238 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

more  than  one  reason  for  thinking  that  he  had 
caught  a  centipede. 

"  Now,  you  keep  still,"  he  cried,  breathlessly. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you." 

He  got  his  burden  out  of  bed  at  last,  and 
staggered  to  the  foot  of  the  companion-ladder 
with  It.  Then  there  was  a  halt,  two  legs 
sticking  obstinately  across  the  narrow  way  and 
refusing  to  be  moved,  while  a  furious  humming 
proceeded  from  the  other  end  of  the  sack. 

Four  times  did  the  exhausted  cook  get  his 
shoulder  under  his  burden  and  try  and  push 
it  up  the  ladder,  and  four  times  did  It  wriggle 
and  fight  its  way  down  again.  Half  crazy  with 
fear  and  rage,  he  essayed  It  for  the  fifth  time, 
and  had  got  It  half-way  up  when  there  was  a 
sudden  exclamation  of  surprise  from  above, 
and  the  voice  of  the  mate  sharply  demanding 
an  explanation. 

"What  the  blazes  are  you  up  to?"  he 
cried. 

"  It's  all  right;  sir,"  said  the  panting  cook; 
"  old  Jem's  had  a  drop  too  much  and  got  down 
aft,  and  I'm  getting  'im  for'ard  again." 
239 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

"  Jem?  "  said  the  astonished  mate.  "  Why, 
he's  sitting  up  here  on  the  fore-hatch.  He 
came  aboard  with  me." 

"Sitting,"  began  the  horrified  cook;  "sit 
-K)h,  lor  I" 

He  stood  with  his  writhing  burden  wedged 
between  his  body  and  the  ladder,  and  looked 
up  despairingly  at  the  mate. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  made  a  mistake,"  he  said 
in  a  trembling  voice. 

The  mate  struck  a  match  and  looked  down. 

"  Take  that  sack  off,"  he  demanded,  sternly. 

The  cook  placed  his  burden  upon  its  feet, 
and  running  up  the  ladder  stood  by  the  mate 
shivering.  The  latter  struck  another  match, 
and  the  twain  watched  in  breathless  silence 
the  writhings  of  the  strange  creature  below 
as  the  covering  worked  slowly  upwards.  In 
the  fourth  match  it  got  free,  and  revealed  the 
empurpled  visage  of  the  master  of  the  Susannah. 
For  the  fraction  of  a  second  the  cook  gazed  at 
him  in  speechless  horror,  and  then,  with  a  hope- 
less cry,  sprang  ashore  and  ran  for  It,  hotly 
pursued  by  his  enraged  victim.  At  the  time 
240 


The  Madness  of  Mr.   Lister 

of  sailing  he  was  still  absent,  and  the  skipper, 
loth  to  part  two  such  friends,  sent  Mr.  James 
Lister,  at  the  urgent  request  of  the  anxious 
crew,  to  look  for  him. 


241 


THE    WHITE 
CAT 


The  White  Cat 

THE  traveller  stood  looking  from  the  tap- 
room window  of  the  Cauliflower  at  the 
falling  rain.  The  village  street  below  was 
empty,  and  everything  was  quiet  with  the 
exception  of  the  garrulous  old  man  smoking 
with  much  enjoyment  on  the  settle  behind 
him. 

"  It'll  do  a  power  o'  good,"  said  the  ancient, 
craning  his  neck  round  the  edge  of  the  settle 
and  turning  a  bleared  eye  on  the  window.  "  I 
ain't  like  some  folk;  I  never  did  mind  a  drop 
o'  rain." 

The  traveller  grunted  and,  returning  to  the 
settle  opposite  the  old  man,  fell  to  lazily  strok- 
ing a  cat  which  had  strolled  In  attracted  by  the 
warmth  of  the  small  fire  which  smouldered  in 
the  grate. 

"  He's  a  good  mouser,"  said  the  old  man> 
245 


The  White  Cat 

"  but  I  expect  that  Smith  the  landlord  would 
sell  'im  to  anybody  for  arf  a  crown ;  but  we  'ad 
a  cat  in  Claybury  once  that  you  couldn't  ha' 
bought  for  a  hundred  golden  sovereigns." 

The  traveller  continued  to  caress  the  cat. 

"  A  white  cat,  with  one  yaller  eye  and  one 
blue  one,"  continued  the  old  man.  "  It 
sounds  queer,  but  it's  as  true  as  I  sit  'ere  wish- 
ing that  I  'ad  another  mug  o'  ale  as  good  as  the 
last  you  gave  me." 

The  traveller,  with  a  start  that  upset  the 
cat's  nerves,  finished  his  own  mug,  and  then 
ordered  both  to  be  refilled.  He  stirred  the  fire 
into  a  blaze,  and,  lighting  his  pipe  and  putting 
one  foot  on  to  the  hob,  prepared  to  listen. 

It  used  to  belong  to  old  man  Clark,  young 
Joe  Clark's  uncle,  said  the  ancient,  smacking 
his  lips  delicately  over  the  ale  and  extending  a 
tremulous  claw  to  the  tobacco-pouch  pushed 
towards  him;  and  he  was  never  tired  of  show- 
ing it  off  to  people.  He  used  to  call  it  'is  blue- 
eyed  darling,  and  the  fuss  'e  made  o'  that  cat 
was  sinful. 

Young  Joe  Clark  couldn't  bear  it,  but  being 
246 


The  White  Cat 

down  in  'is  uncle's  will  for  five  cottages  and  a 
bit  o'  land  bringing  in  about  forty  pounds  a 
year,  he  'ad  to  'ide  his  feelings  and  pretend  as 
he  loved  it.  He  used  to  take  it  little  drops  o* 
cream  and  tit-bits  o'  meat,  and  old  Clark  was 
so  pleased  that  'e  promised  'im  that  he  should 
'ave  the  cat  along  with  all  the  other  property 
when  'e  was  dead. 

Young  Joe  said  he  couldn't  thank  'im  enough, 
and  the  old  man,  who  'ad  been  ailing  a  long 
time,  made  'im  come  up  every  day  to  teach  'im 
'ow  to  take  care  of  it  arter  he  was  gone.  He 
taught  Joe  'ow  to  cook  its  meat  and  then  chop 
it  up  fine;  'ow  it  liked  a  clean  saucer  every 
time  for  its  milk;  and  'ow  he  wasn't  to  make  a 
noise  when  It  was  asleep. 

"  Take  care  your  children  don't  worry  it, 
Joe,"  he  ses  one  day,  very  sharp.  "  One  o* 
your  boys  was  pulling  its  tail  this  morning,  and 
I  want  you  to  clump  his  'ead  for  'im." 

"  Which  one  was  it?  "  ses  Joe. 

"  The  slobbery-nosed  one,"  ses  old  Clark. 

"  I'll  give  'im  a  clout  as  soon  as  I  get  'ome," 
ses  Joe,  who  was  very  fond  of  'is  children. 
247 


The  White  Cat 

"Go  and  fetch  'im  and  do  it  'crc,"  ses  the 
old  man;  "  that'll  teach  'im  to  love  ani- 
mals." 

Joe  went  off  'ome  to  fetch  the  boy,  and  arter 
his  mother  'ad  washed  his  face,  and  wiped  his 
nose,  an'  put  a  clean  pinneyfore  on  'im,  he  took 
'im  to  'is  uncle's  and  clouted  his  'ead  for  'im. 
Arter  that  Joe  and  'is  wife  'ad  words  all  night 
long,  and  next  morning  old  Clark,  coming  in 
from  the  garden,  was  just  in  time  to  see  'im 
kick  the  cat  right  acrost  the  kitchen. 

He  could  'ardly  speak  for  a  minute,  and 
when  'e  could  Joe  see  plain  wot  a  fool  he'd 
been.  Fust  of  all  'e  called  Joe  every  name  he 
could  think  of — which  took  'im  a  long  time — 
and  then  he  ordered  'im  out  of  'is  house. 

"  You  shall  'ave  my  money  wen  your  betters 
have  done  with  it,"  he  ses,  "  and  not  afore. 
That's  all  you've  done  for  yourself." 

Joe  Clark  didn't  know  wot  he  meant  at  the 
time,  but  when  old  Clark  died  three  months 
arterwards  'e  found  out.  His  uncle  'ad  made 
a  new  will  and  left  everything  to  old  George 
Barstow  for  as  long  as  the  cat  lived,  providing 
248 


The  White  Cat 

that  he  took  care  of  It.    When  the  cat  was  dead 
the  property  was  to  go  to  Joe. 

The  cat  was  only  two  years  old  at  the  time, 
and  George  Barstow,  who  was  arf  crazy  with, 
joy,  said  It  shouldn't  be  'is  fault  if  It  didn't  live 
another  twenty  years. 

The  funny  thing  was  the  quiet  way  Joe 
Clark  took  it.  He  didn't  seem  to  be  at  all  cut 
up  about  It,  and  when  Henery  Walker  said  It 
was  a  shame,  'e  said  he  didn't  mind,  and  that 
George  Barstow  was  a  old  man,  and  he  was 
quite  welcome  to  'ave  the  property  as  long  as 
the  cat  lived. 

"  It  must  come  to  me  by  the  time  I'm  an 
old  man,"  he  ses,  "  anJ  that's  all  I  care  about." 

Henery  Walker  went  off,  and  as  'e  passed  the 
cottage  where  old  Clark  used  to  live,  and 
which  George  Barstow  'ad  moved  Into,  'e  spoke 
to  the  old  man  over  the  palings  and  told  'Im  wot 
Joe  Clark  'ad  said.  George  Barstow  only 
grunted  and  went  on  stooping  and  prying 
over  'Is  front  garden. 

"  Bin  and  lost  something? "  ses  Henery 
Walker,  watching  'Im. 

249 


The  White  Cat 

"No;  I'm  finding,"  ses  George  Barstow, 
very  fierce,  and  picking  up  something.  "  That's 
the  fifth  bit  o'  powdered  liver  I've  found  in  my 
garden  this  morning." 

Henery  Wallcer  went  off  whistling,  and  the 
opinion  he'd  'ad  o'  Joe  Clark  began  to  im- 
prove. He  spoke  to  Joe  about  it  that  arter- 
noon,  and  Joe  said  that  if  'e  ever  accused  'im 
o'  such  a  thing  again  he'd  knock  'is  'ead  off. 
He  said  that  he  'oped  the  cat  'ud  live  to  be  a 
hundred,  and  that  'e'd  no  more  think  of  giving 
it  poisoned  meat  than  Henery  Walker  would 
of  paying  for  'is  drink  so  long  as  'e  could  get 
anybody  else  to  do  it  for  'im. 

They  'ad  bets  up  at  this  'ere  Cauliflower 
public-'ouse  that  evening  as  to  'ow  long  that 
cat  'ud  live.  Nobody  gave  it  more  than  a 
month,  and  Bill  Chambers  sat  and  thought  o' 
so  many  ways  o'  killing  it  on  the  sly  that  it  was 
wunnerful  to  hear  'im. 

George  Barstow  took  fright  when  he  'eard 

of  them,  and  the  care  'e  took  o'  that  cat  was 

wunnerful  to  behold.     Arf  its  time  it  was  shut 

up  in  the  back  bedroom,   and  the  other  arf 

250 


He  'ad  a  little  collar  and  chain  made  tor  it,  and  took  it  out  for  a  walk. 


The  White  Cat 

George  Barstow  was  fussing  arter  it  till  that 
cat  got  to  hate  'im  like  pison.  Instead  o' 
giving  up  work  as  he'd  thought  to  do,  'e  told 
Henery  Walker  that  'e'd  never  worked  so  'ard 
in  his  life. 

"  Wot  about  fresh  air  and  exercise  for  it?  ** 
ses  Henery. 

"Wot  about  Joe  Clark?"  ses  George  Bar- 
stow.  "  I'm  tied  'and  and  foot.  I  dursent 
leave  the  house  for  a  moment.  I  ain't  been  to 
the  Cauliflower  since  I've  'ad  it,  and  three  times 
I  got  out  o'  bed  last  night  to  see  if  it  was  safe." 

"  Mark  my  words,"  ses  Henery  Walker; 
"if  that  cat  don't  'ave  exercise,  you'll  lose 
it." 

"  I  shall  lose  it  if  it  does  'ave  exercise,"  ses 
George  Barstow,  "  that  I  know." 

He  sat  down  thinking  arter  Henery  Walker 
'ad  gone,  and  then  he  'ad  a  little  collar  and 
chain  made  for  it,  and  took  it  out  for  a  walk. 
Pretty  nearly  every  dog  in  Claybury  went  with 
'em,  and  the  cat  was  in  such  a  state  o'  mind 
afore  they  got  'ome  he  couldn't  do  anything 
with  it.  It  'ad  a  fit  as  soon  as  they  got  indoors, 
251 


The  White  Cat 

-and  George  Barstow,  who  'ad  read  about 
children's  fits  in  the  almanac,  gave  it  a  warm 
'bath.  It  brought  it  round  immediate,  and 
•then  it  began  to  tear  round  the  room  and  up 
and  downstairs  till  George  Barstow  was  afraid 
to  go  near  it. 

It  was  so  bad  that  evening,  sneezing,  that 
"George  Barstow  sent  for  Bill  Chambers,  who'd 
got  a  good  name  for  doctoring  animals,  and 
-asked  'im  to  give  it  something.  Bill  said  he'd 
got  some  powders  at  'ome  that  would  cure  it 
at  once,  and  he  went  and  fetched  'em  and 
mixed  one  up  with  a  bit  o'  butter. 

"  That's  the  way  to  give  a  cat  medicine,"  he 
ses;  "smear  it  with  the  butter  and  then  it'll 
lick  it  off,  powder  and  all." 

He  was  just  going  to  rub  it  on  the  cat  when 
George  Barstow  caught  'old  of  'is  arm  and 
stopped  'im. 

"How  do  I  know  it  ain't  pison?"  he  ses. 
"  You're  a  friend  o*  Joe  Clark's,  and  for  all  I 
know  he  may  ha'  paid  you  to  pison  it." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing,"  ses  Bill. 
'"  You  ought  to  know  me  better  than  that." 
^52 


The  White  Cat 

"All  right,"  ses  George  Barstow;  "you  eat 
it  then,  and  I'll  give  you  two  shillings  in 
stead  o'  one.  You  can  easy  mix  some 
more." 

"  Not  me,"  ses  Bill  Chambers,  making  a 
face. 

"  Well,  three  shillings,  then,"  ses  George 
Barstow,  getting  more  and  more  suspicious 
like;  "  four  shillings — five  shillings." 

Bill  Chambers  shook  his  'ead,  and  George 
Barstow,  more  and  more  certain  that  he  'ad 
caught  'im  trying  to  kill  'is  cat  and  that  'e 
wouldn't  eat  the  stuff,  rose  'im  up  to  ten 
shillings. 

Bill  looked  at  the  butter  and  then  'e  looked 
at  the  ten  shillings  on  the  table,  and  at  last  he 
shut  'is  eyes  and  gulped  it  down  and  put  the 
money  in  'is  pocket. 

"  You  see,  I  'ave  to  be  careful,  Bill,"  ses 
George  Barstow,  rather  upset. 

Bill  Chambers  didn't  answer  'im.  He  sat 
there  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  making  such 
extraordinary  faces  that  George  was  arf  afraid 
of  'im. 

253 


The  White  Cat 

"Anything  wrong,  Bill?"  he  ses  at 
last. 

Bill  sat  staring  at  'im,  and  then  all  of  a 
sudden  he  clapped  'is  'andkerchief  to  'is  mouth 
and,  getting  up  from  his  chair,  opened  the 
door  and  rushed  out.  George  Barstow  thought 
at  fust  that  he  'ad  eaten  pison  for  the  sake 
o'  the  ten  shillings,  but  when  'e  remem- 
bered that  Bill  Chambers  'ad  got  the  most 
delikit  stummick  in  Claybury  he  altered  'is 
mind. 

The  cat  was  better  next  morning,  but 
George  Barstow  had  'ad  such  a  fright  about  it 
'e  wouldn't  let  it  go  out  of  'is  sight,  and  Joe 
Clark  began  to  think  that  'e  would  'ave  to  wait 
longer  for  that  property  than  'e  had  thought, 
arter  all.  To  'ear  'im  talk  anybody'd  ha' 
thought  that  'e  loved  that  cat.  We  didn't  pay 
much  attention  to  it  up  at  the  Cauliflower 
'ere,  except  maybe  to  wink  at  'im — a  thing  he 
couldn't  a  bear — but  at  'ome,  o'  course,  his 
young  'uns  thought  as  everything  he  said  was 
Gospel;  and  one  day,  coming  'ome  from  work, 
254 


The  White  Cat 

as  he  was  passing  George  Barstow's  he  was  paid 
out  for  his  deceitfulness. 

"  I've  wronged  you,  Joe  Clark,"  ses  George 
Barstow,  coming  to  the  door,  "  and  I'm  sorry 
for  it." 

"  Oh !  "  ses  Joe,  staring. 

"  Give  that  to  your  little  Jimmy,"  ses 
George  Barstow,  giving  'im  a  shilling.  "  I've 
give  'im  one,  but  I  thought  arterwards  it 
wasn't  enough." 

"  What  for?  "  ses  Joe,  staring  at  'im  agin. 

"  For  bringing  my  cat  'ome,"  ses  George 
Barstow.  *'  'Ow  it  got  out  I  can't  think,  but 
I  lost  it  for  three  hours,  and  I'd  about  given  it 
up  when  your  little  Jimmy  brought  it  to  me  in 
'is  arms.  He's  a  fine  little  chap  and  'e  does 
you  credit." 

Joe  Clark  tried  to  speak,  but  he  couldn't  get 
a  word  out,  and  Henery  Walker,  wot  'ad  just 
come  up  and  'eard  wot  passed,  took  hold  of  'is 
arm  and  helped  'im  home.  He  walked  like  a 
man  in  a  dream,  but  arf-way  he  stopped  and 
cut  a  stick  from  the  hedge  to  take  'ome  to  little 
Jimmy.  He  said  the  boy  'ad  been  asking  him 
255 


The  White  Cat 

for  a  stick  for  some  time,  but  up  till  then  'e'd 
always  forgotten  it. 

At  the  end  o'  the  fust  year  that  cat  was  still 
alive,  to  everybody's  surprise;  but  George 
Barstow  took  such  care  of  it  'c  never  let  it  out 
of  'is  sight.  Every  time  'e  went  out  he  took  it 
with  'im  in  a  hamper,  and,  to  prevent  its  being 
pisoned,  he  paid  Isaac  Sawyer,  who  'ad  the 
biggest  family  in  Claybury,  sixpence  a  week  to 
let  one  of  'is  boys  taste  its  milk  before  it  had 
it. 

The  second  year  it  was  ill  twice,  but  the 
horse-doctor  that  George  Barstow  got  for  it  said 
that  it  was  as  'ard  as  nails,  and  with  care  it 
might  live  to  be  twenty.  He  said  that  it  wanted 
more  fresh  air  and  exercise;  but  when  he 
'card  'ow  George  Barstow  come  by  it  he  said 
that  p'r'aps  it  would  live  longer  indoors  arter 
all. 

At  last  one  day,  when  George  Barstow  'ad 
been  living  on  the  fat  o'  the  land  for  nearly 
three  years,  that  cat  got  out  agin.  George  'ad 
raised  the  front-room  winder  two  or  three 
inches  to  throw  something  outside,  and,  afore 
256 


The  White  Cat 

he  knew  wot  was  'appening,  the  cat  was  out- 
side and  going  up  the  road  about  twenty  miles 
an  hour. 

George  Barstow  went  arter  it,  but  he  might 
as  well  ha'  tried  to  catch  the  wind.  The  cat 
was  arf  wild  with  joy  at  getting  out  agin,  and 
he  couldn't  get  within  arf  a  mile  of  it. 

He  stayed  out  all  day  without  food  or  drink, 
follering  it  about  until  it  came  on  dark,  and 
then,  o'  course,  he  lost  sight  of  it,  and,  hoping 
against  'ope  that  it  would  come  home  for  its 
food,  he  went  'ome  and  waited  for  it.  He  sat 
up  all  night  dozing  in  a  chair  in  the  front  room 
with  the  door  left  open,  but  it  was  all  no  use; 
and  arter  thinking  for  a  long  time  wot  was  best 
to  do,  he  went  out  and  told  some  o'  the  folks 
it  was  lost  and  offered  a  reward  of  five  pounds 
for  it. 

You  never  saw  such  a  hunt  then  in  all  your 
life.  Nearly  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in 
Claybury  left  their  work  or  school  and  went  to 
try  and  earn  that  five  pounds.  By  the  arter- 
noon  George  Barstow  made  it  ten  pounds 
provided  the  cat  was  brought  'ome  safe  and 
257 


The  White  Cat 

sound,  and  people  as  was  too  old  to  walk 
stood  at  their  cottage  doors  to  snap  it  up  as  it 
came  by, 

Joe  Clark  was  hunting  for  it  'igh  and  low, 
and  so  was  'is  wife  and  the  boys.  In  fact,  I 
b'lieve  that  everybody  in  Claybury  excepting 
the  parson  and  Bob  Pretty  was  trying  to  get 
that  ten  pounds. 

O'  course,  we  could  understand  the  parson 
— 'is  pride  wouldn't  let  'im;  but  a  low,  poach- 
ing, thieving  rascal  like  Bob  Pretty  turning  up 
'is  nose  at  ten  pounds  was  more  than  we  could 
make  out.  Even  on  the  second  day,  when 
George  Barstow  made  it  ten  pounds  down  and 
a  shilling  a  week  for  a  year  besides,  he  didn't 
offer  to  stir;  all  he  did  was  to  try  and  make  fun 
o'  them  as  was  looking  for  it. 

"  Have  you  looked  everywhere  you  can  think 
of  for  it.  Bill?  "  he  ses  to  Bill  Chambers. 

"  Yes,  I  'ave,"  ses  Bill. 

"  Well,  then,  you  want  to  look  everywhere 
else,"  ses  Bob  Pretty.  "  I  know  where  I 
should  look  if  I  wanted  to  find  it." 

"Why  don't  you  find  it,  then?'*  ses  Bill. 
258 


The  White  Cat 

"  'Cos  I  don't  want  to  make  mischief," 
ses  Bob  Pretty.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  un- 
neighbourly to  Joe  Clark  by  interfering  at  all.'* 

"  Not  for  all  that  money?  "  ses  Bill. 

"Not  for  fifty  pounds,"  ses  Bob  Pretty; 
*'  you  ought  to  know  me  better  than  that.  Bill 
Chambers." 

"  It's  my  belief  that  you  know  more  about 
where  that  cat  is  than  you  ought  to,"  ses  Joe 
Gubbins. 

"  You  go  on  looking  for  it,  Joe,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty,  grinning;  "  it's  good  exercise  for  you, 
and  you've  only  lost  two  days'  work." 

"  I'll  give  you  arf  a  crown  if  you  let  me 
search  your  'ouse.  Bob,"  ses  Bill  Chambers, 
looking  at  'im  very  'ard. 

"  I  couldn't  do  it  at  the  price.  Bill,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty,  shaking  his  'ead.  "  I'm  a  pore  man, 
but  I'm  very  partikler  who  I  'ave  come  into  my 
'ouse." 

O'  course,  everybody  left  off  looking  at  once 

when   they  heard   about   Bob — not  that  they 

believed  that  he'd  be  such  a  fool  as  to  keep  the 

cat  in  his  'ouse;  and  that  evening,  as  soon  as 

259  V 


The  White  Cat 

it  was   dark,    Joe    Clark   went   round   to   see 
im. 

"  Don't  tell  me  as  that  cat's  found,  Joe," 
ses  Bob  Pretty,  as  Joe  opened  the  door. 

"  Not  as  I've  'eard  of,"  said  Joe,  stepping 
inside.  "I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  it; 
the  sooner  it's  found  the  better  I  shall  be 
pleased." 

"  It  does  you  credit,  Joe  Clark,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty. 

"  It's  my  belief  that  it's  dead,"  ses  Joe,  look- 
ing at  'im  very  'ard;  "  but  I  want  to  make  sure 
afore  taking  over  the  property." 

Bob  Pretty  looked  at  'im  and  then  he  gave  a 
little  cough.  "  Oh,  you  want  it  to  be  found 
dead,"  he  ses.  "  Now,  I  wonder  whether  that 
cat's  worth  most  dead  or  alive  ?  " 

Joe  Clark  coughed  then.  "  Dead,  I  should 
think,"  he  ses  at  last. 

"  George  Barstow's  just  'ad  bills  printed 
offering  fifteen  pounds  for  it,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty. 

"I'll  give  that  or  more  when  I  come  into  the 
property,"  ses  Joe  Clark. 
260 


The  White  Cat 

"  There's  nothing  like  ready-money,  though, 
is  there?  "  ses  Bob. 

*'  I'll  promise  It  to  you  in  writing,  Bob,"  ses 
Joe,  trembling. 

"  There's  some  things  that  don't  look  well 
in  writing,  Joe,"  says  Bob  Pretty,  considering; 
"besides,  why  should  you  promise  it  to  w^?  " 

"  O'  course,  I  meant  if  you  found  it,"  ses 
Joe. 

"Well,  I'll  do  my  best,  Joe,"  ses  Bob 
Pretty;  "  and  none  of  us  can  do  no  more  than 
that,  can  they?  " 

They  sat  talking  and  argufying  over  it  for 
over  an  hour,  and  twice  Bob  Pretty  got  up 
and  said  'e  was  going  to  see  whether  George 
Barstow  wouldn't  offer  more.  By  the  time 
they  parted  they  was  is  thick  as  thieves,  and 
next  morning  Bob  Pretty  was  wearing  Joe 
Clark's  watch  and  chain,  and  Mrs.  Pretty  was 
up  at  Joe's  'ouse  to  see  whether  there  was  any 
of  'is  furniture  as  she  'ad  a  fancy  for. 

She  didn't  seem  to  be  able  to  make  up  'er 
mind  at  fust  between  a  chest  o'  drawers  that 
'ad  belonged  to  Joe's  mother  and  a  grand- 
261 


The  White  Cat 

father  clock.  She  walked  from  one  to  the  other 
for  about  ten  minutes,  and  then  Bob,  who  'ad 
come  in  to  'elp  her,  told  'er  to  'ave  both. 

"You're  quite  welcome,"  he  ses;  "ain't 
she,  Joe?" 

Joe  Clark  said  "  Yes,"  and  arter  he  'ad 
helped  them  carry  'em  'ome  the  Prettys  went 
back  and  took  the  best  bedstead  to  pieces,  cos 
Bob  said  as  it  was  easier  to  carry  that  way. 
Mrs.  Clark  'ad  to  go  and  sit  down  at  the  bottom 
o'  the  garden  with  the  neck  of  'er  dress  undone 
to  give  herself  air,  but  when  she  saw  the  little 
Prettys  each  walking  'ome  with  one  of  'er  best 
chairs  on  their  'eads  she  got  and  walked  up  and 
down  like  a  mad  thing. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  we  are  to 
put  It  all,"  ses  Bob  Pretty  to  Joe  Gubbins,  wot 
was  looking  on  with  other  folks,  "  but  Joe 
Clark  is  that  generous  he  won't  'ear  of  our 
leaving  anything." 

"Has  'e  gorn  mad?"  ses  Bill  Chambers, 
staring  at  'im. 

"  Not  as  I  knows  on,"  ses  Bob  Pretty.  "  It's 
Ms  good-'artedness,  that's  all.  He  feels  sure 
262 


The  White  Cat 

that  that  cat's  dead,  and  that  he'll  'ave  George 
Barstow's  cottage  and  furniture.  I  told  'im 
he'd  better  wait  till  he'd  made  sure,  but  'e 
wouldn't.'* 

Before  they'd  finished  the  Prettys  'ad  picked 
that  'ouse  as  clean  as  a  bone,  and  Joe  Clark 
'ad  to  go  and  get  clean  straw  for  his  wife  and 
children  to  sleep  on;  not  that  Mrs.  Clark  'ad 
any  sleep  that  night,  nor  Joe  neither. 

Henery  Walker  was  the  fust  to  see  what  it 
really  meant,  and  he  went  rushing  off  as  fast 
as  'e  could  run  to  tell  George  Barstow.  George 
couldn't  believe  'im  at  fust,  but  when  'e  did  he 
swore  that  if  a  'air  of  that  cat's  head  was  harmed 
'e'd  'ave  the  law  o'  Bob  Pretty,  and  arter 
Henery  Walker  'ad  gone  'e  walked  round  to 
tell  'im  so. 

"  You're  not  yourself,  George  Barstow,  else 
you  wouldn't  try  and  take  away  my  character 
like  that,"  ses  Bob  Pretty. 

"  Wot  did  Joe  Clark  give  you  all  them  things 
for?  "  ses  George,  pointing  to  the  furniture. 

"  Took  a  fancy  to  me,  I  s'pose,"  ses  Bob. 
"  People  do  sometimes.  There's  something 
263 


The  White  Cat 

about  me  at  times  that  makes  'em  like 
me. 

*'  He  gave  'em  to  you  to  kill  my  cat,"  ses 
George  Barstow.  "  It's  plain  enough  for  any- 
body to  see." 

Bob  Pretty  smiled.  "  I  expect  it'll  turn  up 
safe  and  sound  one  o'  these  days,"  he  ses,  "  and 
then  you'll  come  round  and  beg  my  pardon. 
PV'aps " 

"  P'r'aps  wot?"  ses  George  Barstow,  arter 
waiting  a  bit. 

"  P'r'aps  somebody  'as  got  it  and  is  keeping 
it  till  you've  drawed  the  fifteen  pounds  out  o' 
the  bank,"  ses  Bob,  looking  at  'im  very  hard. 

"  I've  taken  it  out  o'  the  bank,"  ses  George, 
starting;  "  if  that  cat's  alive,  Bob,  and  you've 
got  it,  there's  the  fifteen  pounds  the  moment 
you  'and  it  over." 

"  Wot  d'ye  mean — me  got  it?  "  ses  Bob 
Pretty.  "  You  be  careful  o'  my  charac- 
ter." 

"  I  mean  if  you  know  where  it  is,"  ses  George 
Barstow  trembling  all  over. 

"  I  don't  say  I  couldn't  find  it,  if  that's  wot 
264 


The  White  Cat 

you  mean,"  ses  Bob.  "  I  can  gin'rally  find 
things  when  I  want  to." 

"  You  find  me  that  cat,  alive  and  well,  and 
the  money's  yours,  Bob,"  ses  George,  'ardly 
able  to  speak,  now  that  'e  fancied  the  cat  was 
still  alive. 

Bob  Pretty  shook  his  'ead.  "No;  that 
won't  do,"  he  ses.  "  S'pose  I  did  'ave  the 
luck  to  find  that  pore  animal,  you'd  say  I'd  had 
it  all  the  time  and  refuse  to  pay." 

"  I  swear  I  wouldn't.  Bob,"  ses  George 
Barstow,  jumping  up. 

"  Best  thing  you  can  do  if  you  want  me  to 
try  and  find  that  cat,"  says  Bob  Pretty,  "is  to 
give  me  the  fifteen  pounds  now,  and  I'll  go  and 
look  for  it  at  once.  I  can't  trust  you,  George 
Barstow." 

"  And  I  can't  trust  you,"  ses  George  Barstow. 

"  Very  good,"  ses  Bob,  getting  up;  "  there's 
no  'arm  done.  P'r'aps  Joe  Clark  '11  find  the 
cat  is  dead  and  p'r'aps  you'll  find  it's  alive.  It's 
all  one  to  me." 

George  Barstow  walked  off  'ome,  but  he  was 
in  such  a  state  o'  mind  'e  didn't  know  wot  to 
265 


The  White  Cat 

do.  Bob  Pretty  turning  up  'is  nose  at  fifteen 
pounds  like  that  made  'im  think  that  Joe 
Clark  'ad  promised  to  pay  'im  more  if  the  cat 
was  dead;  and  at  last,  arter  worrying  about 
it  for  a  couple  o'  hours,  'e  came  up  to  this  'ere 
Cauliflower  and  offered  Bob  the  fifteen  pounds. 

"Wot's  this  for?"  ses  Bob. 

"  For  finding  my  cat,"  ses  George. 

"  Look  here,"  ses  Bob,  handing  it  back, 
"  I've  'ad  enough  o'  your  insults ;  I  don't 
know  where  your  cat  is." 

"  I  mean  for  trying  to  find  it,  Bob,"  ses 
George  Barstow. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  mind  that,"  ses  Bob, 
taking  it.  "  I'm  a  'ard-working  man,  and  I've 
got  to  be  paid  for  my  time ;  it's  on'y  fair  to  my 
wife  and  children.     I'll  start  now." 

He  finished  up  'is  beer,  and  while  the  other 
chaps  was  telling  George  Barstow  wot  a  fool 
he  was  Joe  Clark  slipped  out  arter  Bob  Pretty 
and  began  to  call  'im  all  the  names  he  could 
think  of. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  ses  Bob;  "the  cat 
ain't  found  yet." 

266 


The  White  Cat 

"  Is  it  dead?  "  ses  Joe  Clark,  'ardly  able  to 
speak. 

"'Ow  should  I  know?"  ses  Bob;  "that's 
wot  IVe  got  to  try  and  find  out.  That's  wot 
you  gave  me  your  furniture  for,  and  wot 
George  Barstow  gave  me  the  fifteen  pounds 
for,  ain't  it?  Now,  don't  you  stop  me  now, 
'cos  I'm  goin'  to  begin  looking." 

He  started  looking  there  and  then,  and  for 
the  next  two  or  three  days  George  Bar- 
stow  and  Joe  Clark  see  'im  walking  up  and 
down  with  his  'ands  in  'is  pockets  looking  over 
garden  fences  and  calling  "  Puss."  He  asked 
everybody  'e  see  whether  they  'ad  seen  a  white 
cat  with  one  blue  eye  and  one  yaller  one,  and 
every  time  'e  came  into  the  Cauliflower  he  put 
his  'ead  over  the  bar  and  called  "  Puss,"  'cos, 
as  'e  said,  it  was  as  likely  to  be  there  as  anywhere 
else. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  the  cat  'ad  dis- 
appeared that  George  Barstow  was  standing 
at  'is  door  talking  to  Joe  Clark,  who  was  saying 
the  cat  must  be  dead  and  'e  wanted  'is  property, 
when  he  sees  a  man  coming  up  the  road  carry- 
267 


The  White  Cat 

ing  a  basket  stop  and  speak  to  Bill  Chambers. 
Just  as  'e  got  near  them  an  awful  "  miaow  " 
come  from  the  basket  and  George  Barstow 
and  Joe  Clark  started  as  if  they'd  been  shot. 

"He's  found  it?"  shouts  Bill  Chambers, 
pointing  to  the  man. 

"  It's  been  living  with  me  over  at  Ling  for 
a  week  pretty  nearly,"  ses  the  man.  "  I  tried 
to  drive  it  away  several  times,  not  knowing 
that  there  was  fifteen  pounds  offered  for  it." 

George  Barstow  tried  to  take  'old  of  the 
basket. 

"  I  want  that  fifteen  pounds  fust,"  ses  the 
man. 

"  That's  on'y  right  and  fair,  George,"  ses 
Bob  Pretty,  who  'ad  just  come  up.  "  You've 
got  all  the  luck,  mate.  We've  been  hunting 
'igh  and  low  for  that  cat  for  a  week." 

Then  George  Barstow  tried  to  explain  to 
the  man  and  call  Bob  Pretty  names  at  the 
same  time;  but  it  was  all  no  good.  The  man 
said  it  'ad  nothing  to  do  with  'im  wot  he  'ad 
paid  to  Bob  Pretty;  and  at  last  they  fetched 
Policeman  White  over  from  Cudford,  and 
268 


The  White  Cat 

George  Barstow  signed  a  paper  to  pay  five  shill- 
ings a  week  till  the  reward  was  paid. 

George  Barstow  'ad  the  cat  for  five  years 
arter  that,  but  he  never  let  It  get  away  agin. 
They  got  to  like  each  other  in  time  and  died 
within  a  fortnight  of  each  other,  so  that  Joe 
Clark  got  'is  property  arter  all. 


269 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


